Waiting in the Shadows
by butterflyKisses26
Summary: An assasin is on the loose in Las Vegas and the CSI team is hard at work. But with the addition of a new teammate and sexual tension between two CSIs, it's going to be a lot harder to solve this case than expected.
1. Murder

Disclaimer: No I do not own CSI or anything affiliated with the show. I do own this story, plot line, title, and all original characters.

Spoilers: This story has no set place in the CSI timeline. All I know is that it takes place sometime during this season.

Author's Note: The idea for this story just came to me one day and I just sat down and started writing it. I'm not sure how often I'll be updating it, it all depends on if people like it and if I enjoy writing it. There are other stories that I'm working on (including one original work) that take precedence over this one. But, I hope that you all will enjoy it no matter how often I update, and I hope you all will review and tell me your honest opinions.

Also, I should warn you that I suck at science, so most scientific jargon will most likely be made up.

****

Waiting in the Shadows

I know you, but you don't know me. I watch you, learn your likes and dislikes, find out your secrets. I get close to you, become your friend, earn your trust. I know every detail of your life, from what you eat for breakfast, to what brand of soap you use in the shower. I find out everything there is to know and, when the time is right, I strike.

I blend in with those around you, masquerading as your best friend. I take my time, learning everything I can. And then, I kill you.

Chapter One

Blood mixed with the water that moved towards the drain and stained the white porcelain sink a dull, rusty red. Hidden in the darkness, the only light coming from the apartment windows across the street and the dim streetlamps three stories below, the figure stared at its dull outline in the mirror. Dark circles lay beneath the heavy lidded and tired eyes.

A sigh escaped the full lips, mixing with the sound of the running water. The shadowed figure splashed bloodied water over their face, trying to wash off the hidden guilt. It didn't work.

There was a knock on the closed door. The figure stiffened, and glanced up. The door creaked open, its rusted hinges squealing in protest.

"Is it done?" The husky, smoking induced voice asked from the darkness.

"It's done," the figure replied, its eyes focused on the dark image in the mirror. A shame filled expression marring its deathly beautiful features stared back.

* * *

The sun had barely crept over the horizon when the shrill beep of an alarm clock interrupted the stillness of the apartment. Greg groaned and turned onto his side before slamming the snooze button on his clock.

"What time is it babe?" A slim blonde wrapped a perfectly manicured hand around his torso.

"Early," Greg replied with a yawn, "go back to sleep, I've got to get to work." He pushed back the tangled sheets and rolled out of bed. As he pulled on a pair of semi-clean black pants, the blonde watched him, her eyes half closed as she surveyed him.

"Do you have to go?" she simpered, "I was kinda hopping we could have some more time together." She gazed at him through lowered lashes, a seductive pout on her lips, nearly making Greg say to hell with it all and return to bed.

"I can't, my boss will be on my ass if I don't show up on time today." He sighed. He kissed her mouth, letting himself get lost in the kiss for no more than a minute before pulling away.

"Lock up when you leave." he said.

* * *

Sirens sounded off in the distance, gradually making their way towards the low grade motel. Grissom ducked beneath the yellow police tape, his forensics kit in hand.

"What do we have?" he asked his friend and co-worker, Captain Jim Brass.

"Caucasian male, about thirty, no id." Brass replied, leading Grissom into the motel room.

A man lay on the bed, stripped down to his underwear - a pair of boxers with blue and green stripes- with a single stab wound to his chest. His hands were tied to the bedposts, white from the cutoff circulation, and there was a yellow and pink polka-dotted scarf tied around his eyes. There was no wallet on the nightstand, only a gold Rolex watch.

"Looks like a typical prostitution murder," Brass said, surveying the scene from where he stood in the open doorway. "Guy probably didn't want pay what the girl was asking for."

"Then why didn't she take the watch as well?" Grissom asked as he knelt down to inspect the body.

"She stabbed him once," he traced a finger over the wound, the white finger of his glove becoming covered in crimson blood that was just beginning to dry. "Probably a deep stab, so it would have been hard to pull the knife out." he stood and looked over the body, "She would have had to brace herself, but there's no bruising on the body."

Grissom took his camera out of his kit and began to snap photos of the crime scene. Footsteps hurried towards the doorway and Greg appeared, out of breath, beside Brass.

"You're…on time." Grissom glanced up at Greg surprised. Usually his newest CSI was never on time, a habit that was constantly earning him an admonishment. Greg smirked, which only served to deepen Grissom's permanent frown.

"You can process the body." Grissom told the younger man.

* * *

A lone figure sat in the far corner of the sparsely crowded coffee shop, nursing a steaming cup and watching the people that filtered through the café style shop. A high-heeled foot tapped against the stone floor impatiently, as hazel eyes traveled over the tables, sofas, and chairs that filled the coffee shop. Patience was a strong point for the woman, but waiting this long was tiring. The meeting was supposed to take place nearly two hours ago, and her employer had still to show. A burnt-orange latte cup was lifted to the pert, red lips by a finely manicured hand.

Once more she surveyed the café's occupants. A few business men, a couple of college students, a group of mother's meeting for a book discussion, and a few hippie types sipping Chai tea. Long, crimson red fingernails tapped against the wooden top of the table at which she sat. She toyed with the pages of the book she held in her lap.

A man sat down opposite her. She hadn't even heard him approach.

"You're late." She stated, without even glancing up at him.

"No," he replied, "you're simply early." She looked up at him, her eyes narrowing. He looked back at her, his eyes calculating, as always, studying her, measuring her. He leaned back in the chair, eyeing her body appreciatively as she leaned over to reach into the shopping bag that lay at her feet. His eyes traveled down the v-neck of her black sweater. She looked at him, her lips pursed, and placed a book in front of him.

He picked it up and pulled out the photos that rested between the pages.

"Are you happy with the work?" She asked, her eyebrows raised in question a she tried to appear cold, distant, and aloof.

"I didn't think you would go through with it." He replied, a smirk emerging from his thin lips, "You almost became too close to this one. You'll need to watch it on your next assignment, I don't want you to become too friendly with the next one."

"I won't." Her lips turned down in a deep scowl.

"Good," the man said, "because we can afford no mistakes."

"Just tell me what my next job is so that we can both go on with our lives." She snapped. He arched one eyebrow.

"You're feisty today." he said appreciatively, "I like that."

"My assignment."

He smirked and reached into the inside pocket of his jacket to pull out a brown folder, which he slid across the table top. She reached for it and opened it slowly, studying the picture and information that lay within the file.

"Let me make myself clear," she said, "this is the last job I do for you. After this, I owe you _nothing_."

"My dear," the man smirked, "you'll _always_ owe me." She bit her lip to keep from yelling at him and telling him exactly what she thought of his slimy, weasely self. He stood and looked down at her condescendingly.

"This only makes us a bit more even." He nodded to her, "I'll see you around." She simmered as he walked away and quickly gathered together the folder and her bag before marching out of the café.

* * *

Greg stood over the body where it lay on the metal slab in the center of the coroner's office. He watched and listened as Doc Robbins went over the body with him and Grissom.

"There was no visible edge to the wound," Doc Robbins said as he surveyed the stab wound to the victim's chest.

"Which means?" Grissom asked.

"Which means that your John Doe here wasn't stabbed with a knife, or anything similar to a knife." The coroner said.

"What was he stabbed with then?" Grissom asked. Greg could hear the slight impatience in his voice.

"Well, there was an excessive amount of water around the heart." Robbins said, he looked at Grissom and Greg an amused and perplexed smirk on his face, "You're victim was killed by a weapon made of ice."

"Killed by ice?" Grissom raised a questioning brow. The coroner nodded.

* * *

"We know that the body wasn't moved after the stabbing," Grissom said, placing photos of the crime scene and victim on the table in front of him.

"And he was killed by something made of ice." Greg supplied.

"Death by icicle?" Warrick Brown laughed, "Now I've heard it all." Grissom shot the CSI a look and Warrick quieted. Nick Stokes reached out and pulled one of the photos towards him.

"What do we know about the scarf?" He asked.

"Nothing." Catherine Willows sighed, "There wasn't even so much as a hair on it. Whoever this killer is knows how to cover their tracks."

"And since our vic is a John Doe, we have no way of even finding out if any of his friends or associates have reason enough to hire a hit man to kill him." Sarah Sidle added.

"So we're at an impasse then." Grissom said, "We have absolutely nothing to go on, no evidence other than the fact that our victim was killed by a weapon of ice. Can anybody tell me where we go from here?"

"I could run a reference for all similar murders in the databank." Nick reasoned, "I mean a murder so unique has got to turn up somewhere else, especially if this person's a trained assassin, they probably work like a serial killer, the same MO all the time."

"Good," Grissom said, "Sarah, Greg, I want you two to go back and check the motel room, see if there was anything we missed the first time around. Catherine and Warrick, go over the vic's clothing and any other trace that we have with a fine tooth comb. There has to be something we're missing."

* * *

She looked over the folder again, this time in the privacy of her small apartment. She ran a slim, pale finger over the face that stared back at her from the picture. If only she were able to walk away from this. But she couldn't, he held too strong of a hold over her. Sighing, she placed the folder, still open, down on the coffee table in front of her and leaned back on the dingy couch, thoughtfully running a finger over her mouth. In what way would she approach this one? In what way would she gain the trust of her newest victim, extract his secrets? Every man and woman had a weakness, it was her job to find it. So what was the weakness of her latest victim-to-be?

* * *

So do I have you all intrigued? Please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter and if I should continue. 


	2. And it begins

Chapter Two

"Yo, Grissom." Warrick called after the older man, walking quickly to catch up to him. "Got some semen stains off our vic's boxers."

"And that's something interesting?" Grissom cocked an eyebrow.

"It is when you add a vaginal contribution." Warrick handed Grissom a folder, which the other man quickly opened. "It seems our vic had a little liaison with one Sandra Dee."

"The actress?"

"No, the hooker. Also known as Cynthia Lawrence."

"Well let's bring her in then," Grissom handed the file back. Warrick nodded and headed off down the hall.

* * *

The Caucasian woman sat on the metal chair, her legs crossed in front of her. Blonde hair cascaded down her back in lush curls and her doe brown eyes stared at Warrick innocently. Her face was the perfect girl-next-door look, but was contrasted sharply by the tight black miniskirt and ruby red tube top she wore.

"Miss Lawrence," Warrick placed a photo on the table and slid it towards the middle so that the woman across from him could see what was in the picture, "did you sleep with this man?"

"Yeah, so?" She smacked her gum and looked Warrick up and down.

"He's dead." The CSI said.

"He was alive when I left him." She cocked her head, as well as an attitude. "You tryin' to say I killed him. I don't think so man."

"Did you know his name?"

"Yeah right, like they gonna give me their names. Dude I don't ask no specifics, as long as they payin' I'm layin'." Warrick shook his head, disgusted that someone would choose this life for themselves.

"Look," he said, quickly growing irritated with the Ghetto Barbie wannabe, "right now, you're the prime suspect in this case. You were the last known person to see this man alive, so unless you start telling me everything you know, you're looking at twenty to life."

"I'm tellin' ya I didn't do it." She snapped, "You wanna know who whacked him, ask Lady Delia."

"Who's Lady Delia?"

"She runs a gentlemen's club just off the Strip, me and some of the other girls do business there. She let's us work out the back as long as she gets her sixty percent. You wanna know somethin' that's going down, she'll know all about it."

* * *

Men were seated about the dark club on plush, burgundy couches and chairs. The dark red lighting swirled with cigarette and cigar smoke. Women moved through the crowds dressed in skin-tight clothing that left nothing to the imagination. On the catwalk that sat opposite the bar, two women danced about, sashaying sensuously as they teased the men.

Warrick moved through the crowd, barely meeting the eyes of the women who looked at him. He approached the bar and leaned against the alcohol soaked wood. The female bartender eyed him and licked her lips seductively as she made her way towards him.

"Can I help ya doll?" She asked, her voice low and husky.

"I'm looking for Lady Delia." Warrick said, nearly shouting to be heard over the catcalls and loud music.

"She's in the back." The bartender inclined her head towards a black door that sat just next to the bar.

"Thanks." He weaved his way towards the door, the police officer that Brass had assigned to go with him following close behind. A beefy security guard stood in front of the door.

"Hold it," he commanded, putting up his hand to stop Warrick, "you can't go in there without permission from the Lady."

"I have my own permission." Warrick said, flashing his CSI badge. The guard looked from him to the officer then back to Warrick. He nodded quickly and stepped aside, opening the door as he did so. Warrick stepped through the door and into, if possible, an even darker, smokier room. Sounds of pleasure filled the air, coming from various corners of the room and from behind the doors that littered three of the walls.

"Can I help you?" A tall woman, made so by her high-heeled boots, asked. Her raven black hair was sleek and brushed her shoulders in gentle waves. She wore a black leather corset and tight black pants. Her skin was deathly pale in the dim, dark light that filled the room. She looked, for all intents and purpose like a modern day Elvira.

"I'm looking for Lady Delia." Warrick repeated.

"Well you found her good lookin'. What can I do for you today?" She placed two slim hands on her hips, causing her breasts, which were already threatening to spill out of her top, to stick out even more.

"I have some questions to ask you."

"Questions can wait my dear, what's your pleasure tonight?" Lady Delia ran a hand up Warrick's arm seductively. "Any of my girls would be more than willing to 'help' you out."

"I was actually hoping you could tell me who this man is." Warrick held out the vic's picture for the Lady to see.

"Sorry, I don't recognize him." Lady Delia replied, disinterestedly.

"Really?" Warrick asked skeptically, "Miss Lawrence said that you would know who he is."

"Who?"

"Cynthia Lawrence, Sandra Dee."

"Oh, that little bitch owes me five grand. You see her again you tell her I want my money." Lady Delia snapped. "Now beat it before you scare away my customers."

* * *

She sat at her vanity, craftily applying her make-up. A little lipstick, some blush, a bit of eye-shadow and eyeliner. She brushed her hair, working out the knots that had formed while she was tossing and turning during the night. She stood and straightened her clothing. Sighing, she surveyed her work. Perfect. She grabbed her purse and headed out the door.

* * *

"Hey Grissom," Gil looked up from his paperwork to see Nick standing in the door way.

"Yes?" The older man asked.

"I found something that you might find interesting." Nick stepped into the crowded office, carefully bypassing a shelf full of cockroaches. He held up a slim file. "Seems there were four other murders in the past two years that are similar to this one." He placed the file on the desk and Grissom opened it, flipping through the information.

"These are all in different states." Grissom said, looking up at Nick.

"Yep." Nick nodded his head. "The only thing they have in common is the murder weapon, but I think it's something to look in to."

"Excuse me," the two men looked up at the doorway. Two people stood there: a man and woman. The man stepped forward. His hair was dark brown with streaks of gray showing through. Despite the gray though, this man appeared fit. His nose was slightly bent, obviously from being broken one too many times. He had been the one to speak.

"Can I help you?" Grissom asked.

"Actually, you can." The man said. "I am Agent Wilkins, and this is Agent Sawyer. We're with the FBI."

Grissom and Nick shared a look. They'd worked with the FBI before, and it hadn't exactly turned out great.

"We've been tracking the Ice Assassin for the past year-and-a-half. And, since this person has struck in more than one state, this is a Federal case."

"And what do you want us to do?" Grissom asked.

"I'm busy working the case in Ohio, but Agent Sawyer will join your team and do her part in this investigation. All your team needs to do is what they've been doing. Agent Sawyer will report your findings back to me and we'll have our analysts add all the new information to what we already have. It's quite simply really." Agent Wilkins said.

"I'll have to discuss this with my team." Grissom said, not at all happy about having to add a federal agent to the team.

"Mr. Grissom, sir, I assure you that I will not try to take over control of this investigation." Agent Sawyer said, stepping forward.

Had Grissom been standing, the woman would have been at nose level to him, and that was with heels on. Her dirty blonde hair was swept back into a ponytail, leaving her round face in full view. With almond shaped, green eyes, slightly pout lips, and a stubborn chin, it was a nice face to look at. Her eyes were hidden behind rectangular, black plastic framed glasses, which only seemed to magnify the intensity of her stare. She wore a simple, yet elegant pinstriped, black pant suit with a white blouse. She was young looking, probably only mid-twenties, and there was a girlish charm to her looks.

"That's very good Agent Sawyer," Grissom said.

"Please," she interrupted him, "call me Meg. I'm not comfortable with all this 'Agent' business."

"Meg," Grissom continued, "that's very nice that you don't want to take over, but I still need to discuss this with my team."

"I understand completely Mr. Grissom." Meg said.

"We'll be in touch." Agent Wilkins said, turning to leave," Just remember Mr. Grissom. Even if your team doesn't want Agent Sawyer on this case, she will be working with you. Don't like it? Take it up with the government."

* * *

Sorry it took me so long to update this story. I hope you all enjoyed this latest chapter and will review. I am working on learning more about forensic science and all that so that I can better describe what is happening in each scene and you all won't get confused about too much.

TwigStudios1972: You are absolutely right, Grissom wouldn't have done that. Thank you for pointing out my mistake. I apologize for it and promise that I will do my best to make sure it won't happen again.

fanfictionfan: The reason I switch scenes so often is because there are only a few things that I want to cover in each scene depending on what is happening in that chapter. I'm sorry if you don't like it, but it's the way I write. Also, in doing scene changes so rapidly, I am trying to make this story fit with the set up of CSI episodes.

Sillie, csi-ds9, Firetiger2, Kimmuryiel, CSIchick, and just me: Thank you all so much for reviewing this chapter. It really means a lot to me that you all would take the time to tell me what you think.


	3. Murderous Memories

Oh wow, I haven't updated this story in forever. I am so sorry you guys. I was suffering from a major bout of writer's block, and y'all know how that can be. Anyways, I am totally sorry about taking so long to update. I hope this chapter was worth the wait.

Chapter Three

"And this is all the evidence you've collected so far?" Meg asked as she surveyed the items littering the table.

"This is everything." Nick assured her.

"There's no DNA off the scarf?" She asked, picking up the bagged item.

"None." The CSI shook his head.

"Any DNA at all, aside from the vic's?"

"There was a vaginal contribution," said a tall, black man who had just entered the room. "It was from a hooker. I questioned her earlier and right now she's not a prime suspect."

"You must be Warrick." She said. The man nodded. "I'm Agent Meg Sawyer, I was assigned to this case by the FBI."

"It's nice to meet you." Warrick shook her hand.

"Same here." She smiled. "So," she turned back to the evidence, "this really is everything."

"Yep." Nick sighed.

"It doesn't seem right. Every criminal, even the best ones, leave some trace of themselves behind. It's like an instinct."

"How is that?" Warrick asked.

"Subconsciously, all criminals want to be caught. So, they leave small clues behind without even knowing it."

"And just how do you know all this?" Warrick asked, leaning against the table.

"My dad was profiler for the FBI. That's beside the point though." She shook her head. "What I'm trying to tell you, is that there is something hidden here that you just haven't seen yet. Has anybody gone back to look over the scene?"

"Greg and Sara went earlier." Nick said, "I think they just got back."

"Alrighty then," Meg started towards the door, "let's go see if they found anything."

* * *

"Nothing," Greg sighed as he leaned back in a chair and propped his feet up on the table that sat in front of him, "we went over that place twice and still nothing." He looked at Sara. His female companion was engrossed in a file full of photographs that he and Grissom had taken the first time at the crime scene.

"I don't get it." She said after a few moments. Looking at Greg confused, she shut the file, "I just don't get what we're missing."

"May I see those photographs?" A distinctly feminine voice sounded from the doorway. Greg looked up, his eyes widening slightly as he took in the beauty in front of him. Her smile was gentle and sweet as her eyes met his.

"Who's your friend, Nick?" Sara asked the CSI standing just behind the unfamiliar woman.

"This is Meg Sawyer. She's the agent the FBI assigned to work the case with us." Nick said.

"Nice to meet you." Sara nodded her head in greeting. Greg could tell that she wasn't exactly too happy about someone else coming in to work the case. Sara often times got very territorial over cases she was working on. And Greg sensed that she didn't want Agent Sawyer working with them.

* * *

Reaching for the file that the man handed her, Meg flipped it open and studied the photos there. The scene was familiar: Dead body, no weapon, a polka-dotted scarf around the eyes. That was the killer's first signature: the scarf. Always the same. Yellow and pink. The second signature was, of course, the ice.

Meg flipped through the pictures, her eyes taking in every detail. She knew what to expect. The murders were always the same. Victim tied to the bed, stripped to their underwear, a scarf tied around their eyes.

Her mind flew to the other victims of the Ice Assassin. There were two men and two women. Each with absolutely nothing to hide. Each with nobody who would so much as wish a cold upon them. So why, then, had somebody killed them?

_"But why Daddy?" Meg cried, climbing into her father's lap. "Why would someone want to kill Mommy?" The look in her father's eyes made her tears come faster, harder._

_"I don't know, Meg." He shook his head sadly. "I don't know." She looked at him, her large ten-year-old eyes pleading with him to answer her questions in a way that would give her closure and make her understand her mother's murder._

_"But this is what you do, Daddy. You find out why people are killed."_

_"There are just some things no one can understand." He seemed so distant that it scared Meg. Her father was never like this. He was always happy and smiling and teasing her. He didn't pull on her pigtails anymore, he didn't joke with her about school and how all the boys would be falling all over her one day. He wasn't Daddy anymore._

_She placed a small arm around his neck and hugged him close. He broke down in tears, gently putting her away from him in his grief. They were both so alike, but opposite in this one way. Meg needed company in her sorrow, she needed comforting. But not Daddy. No, Daddy would rather be alone to cry. She felt hurt knowing that there was nothing she could do to help him. _

_If only Mommy hadn't died, hadn't been murdered. Why had someone wanted to kill her anyway? She had done nothing wrong. She had only ever cared about all those she came in contact with. So why had someone wanted her dead?_

"What?" Meg's eyes snapped up from the photos and her mind moved back to the present. She hadn't anticipated that memory popping up all of a sudden. Why had it come back? She had put that part of her life so far back in her memory that she couldn't have recalled it even if she had wanted to.

"I said, Grissom wants to see you in his office." Nick repeated.

"Oh, okay." With a small smile, Meg placed the file back on the table and headed out of the room.

* * *

Returning to her small apartment, she sighed. Another day over with. She had made contact with her newest assignment and was off to a good start in befriending them. Guilt engulfed her. She hated this way of life. She hated the hold that _he_ had over her. Oh how she wished she'd never even met him. Then her life wouldn't be so damn screwed up.

Placing her purse on the small kitchen table, she set about fixing herself a cup of coffee. As the pungent aroma filled the apartment, she remembered all her other assignments.

They'd all been nice people. The very first guy, Todd, had been an architect with a large contracting firm. He had been one of the sweetest guys she'd ever known. And he had been so handsome. His eyes had been such a killer blue that she had often times found herself simply getting lost in his gaze. He had fallen in love with her, and she had felt sick to her stomach when she first plunged the cold icicle into his heart. After leaving their hotel room, she had driven to a gas station not far away and vomited in the dirty, dingy toilet.

Mindy had been her next assignment. An out of work actress in Manhattan who had been renting the second bedroom in her apartment for some extra cash. It had been an easy in, and she had taken it. They developed a friendship, a risky thing to do in her line of work. They had shared an apartment for three months before she finally killed her.

After Mindy there was Lauren. A bartender in Chicago, whose lover had just recently left her. Lauren had been an easy target with her broken heart. Searching for someone to comfort her, she had swooped in and been that comforting shoulder. Only after a few weeks did Lauren trust her enough to divulge the fact that she was a lesbian. That had been bonus number two. They started to see each other, falling into an easy relationship. She had been a bit hesitant at first to enter into a lesbian relationship, but _he_ kept reminding her that this was the job. The night that Lauren asked her to move in with her, that was the night she died.

Alan was a personal trainer in Dayton, Ohio. And, he had been her fourth victim. He was a widower with two kids: twins, a boy and a girl. There names, were Sasha and Holden. They were six-years-old at the time. Alan had just begun to start dating again, and she had been his second attempt at a relationship since his wife's death. The kids loved her, and easily accepted her. And it wasn't too long before Alan was falling for her too. She'd killed him the night he purposed.

The latest victim had been John, a finical advisor to small businesses. He had been shy, geeky, and uncomfortable around women. She called him up, pretending she wanted to open her own bookstore and needed his help. She'd made sure to express her attraction to him and draw him out of his shell enough to ask her out. They dated, and she taught him how to be more confident of himself. She had taken him under her wing so far that he no longer was shy and was comfortable, to the point of arrogance, around women. The night she killed him she had found him with a hooker. Never before had any of her victims cheated on her. Rage had driven the guilt from her as she killed him.

From each victim, she had a token, a keepsake of their time together. From Todd she had his letterman's jacket from his high school glory days. He'd given her the jacket when they first started going "steady". It had been a sweet and innocent gesture that, even now, whenever she looked at the jacket made her stomach twist. Mindy had given her a book of poetry about friends. She read it every night, to punish herself and remind herself what she had done and what she still had to do. Her present from Lauren was a silver bracelet that her mother had given her when she was a little girl. It was a special gift. Lauren's mother had died when she was only eleven. She had kept the engagement ring from Alan, wearing it around her neck so that the reminder of her betrayal was always close. His death had been one of the hardest. It pained her to take the father away from already motherless children. So she kept his token closest to her. John had been a closet artist, and on their one month anniversary he had painted a portrait of her. It now hung on her wall, a constant reminder of who she had become.

Anything else that she had acquired during her time with each victim, had been burned after their death. She wanted no further evidence of their murders than those special gifts they had given her.

A tear slipped down her cheek. With each murder she felt a piece of her soul went missing. Now, she was about to set out upon another assignment and lose yet another piece of her already shattered being.

She pulled out the file of her latest victim and studied the picture there. A sad smile spread across her lips as her finger traced their face. So beautiful. Why did such beauty need to be destroyed? Closing her eyes, she willed herself to become hardened. She would not become close this time. She would only invest enough emotion to become close to the person, but not overly close. She would not mess up again. This time, she was determined to keep from feeling guilty.

* * *

A nice long chapter to make up for all the time that it's taken me to update. Please review and tell me what you thought.

TwigStudios1972 and Stableperson: Thank you both so much for taking the time to read and review. It really means a lot to me.


	4. The Hell In Which I Live

Chapter Four

"So, what do you know about Meg?" Greg asked Nick as they went over evidence together early the next morning.

"Not much," Nick shrugged, "why do you want to know?"

"I'm just…curious." Greg tried to sound nonchalant about the whole thing. Nick looked at him carefully.

"Don't even think about it man." The older CSI shook his head with a laugh. "She's FBI, and _way_ out of your league."

"Who says?" Greg arched an eyebrow. He was incensed over Nick's comment. If Greg wanted to ask Meg out, and he wasn't saying that he did, who was Nick to say that she was out of his league?

"Look man, don't take this the wrong way, but Meg is…well, she's unique." Nick paused, thinking over his next statement. "Let's just say she's not the kind of girl you're used to."

Greg opened his mouth to reply, but quickly snapped it shut when Meg walked into the room. She looked as immaculate as ever, if a bit more dressed down than the day before. Even a simple pair of jeans, green t-shirt, and leather jacket looked glamorous when she wore them.

If Greg had tried to deny it before, he no longer could. He was smitten with Meg, and that was all there was to it.

"Good morning." She greeted them both with a bright smile.

"Hey, Meg." Nick returned the smile easily. An unsolicited surge of jealousy raced through Greg's veins.

"Morning." He greeted Meg. She placed a to-go cup on the table, safely away from their evidence.

"What are we looking at this morning?" She asked, standing next to Greg and inspecting the clothing that sat on the table.

Greg was overcome by the smell of her perfume. She took off her jacket and pulled on a pair of latex gloves.

"We're just searching for fibers right now." Nick answered. "Not exactly a very glamorous job."

Meg chuckled.

"Ah, I love the tedious work." She grinned and reached for a magnifying glass.

* * *

Catherine looked over the file she carried. She had managed to get a hit off the vic's DNA and was heading to Grissom's office to tell him the good news.

Deeply absorbed in reading about the vic, she narrowly missed running into Sara.

"You should watch where you're going next time." Sara snapped. Catherine looked at the younger woman, resisting the urge to glare.

"Something wrong, Sara?" She asked, trying her best to be patient with the often moody CSI.

Sara sighed and rolled her eyes.

"Nothing's wrong."

"Really?" Catherine wasn't convinced.

Warrick passed by them, and Catherine greeted him warmly. She needed a break from Sara's moodiness.

"Where are you headed to, Warrick?" She asked. He held up his own file.

"Meg wants to look over the notes from my interrogation of Cynthia Lawrence."

Catherine noticed Sara's eyes narrow at the FBI agent's name.

"I'll see you two around." Warrick must have noticed Sara's expression as well. He quickly continued down the hall.

"Let me guess," Catherine sighed, "you don't like Meg."

"I don't get why we have to have the FBI poking their noses in our crime lab." Sara barked. "We have enough work to do without babysitting their little agent."

"Meg's only been here a day, Sara." Catherine was growing annoyed of her co-worker's attitude. "She may be young, but she's doing a good job so far. Besides, this is a federal case. The FBI have every right to get involved."

"Still, I don't like her." Sara retorted before walking off in a huff. Catherine whistled lowly and bit her lip. Sara would work out her issues eventually, and, maybe, come to terms with the fact that Meg was there to stay, at least until the case was solved.

Her mind quickly returned to the file she held in her hand. Now was not the time to dwell on Sara's problems. She needed to get this information to Grissom so that they could proceed with their investigation.

Grissom's door was open a crack when Catherine knocked on it. She could hear her boss shuffling around inside, probably messing with some part of his bug collection.

"Come in." He called. Catherine pushed the door open the rest of the way and walked inside.

"Hello, Catherine," he greeted her, "to what do I owe this visit?"

Catherine put the file on his desk.

"I found out our vic's identity."

Grissom reached for the file. Though he moved slowly, Catherine could tell he was practically bursting at the seams to read the information that she had handed him.

"John Carter," he read. "Age: thirty-one. Financial advisor. Lieutenant in the Navy. No criminal record." He looked up at Catherine.

"Good job."

"Thanks." She couldn't help the proud smile that flittered across her face. Compliments from Gil Grissom were not unheard of, but they were only given where credit was due.

"Make sure to have Brass go with you when you check out the vic's house." Grissom said, handing back the file. Catherine took it and nodded.

"Oh, and Catherine," he said when she was halfway through the door, "you might want to take Meg with you, too."

* * *

Carefully lifting a hair off the khaki pants, Meg bagged it and placed the hair with the rest of the fibers she'd already pulled off the pants. Beside her, Greg worked diligently, head bowed over the shirt, eyes narrowed just slightly as he stared through a magnifying glass.

Meg flipped the pants over, straightening out the wrinkles as she laid them down. Her mind was focused entirely on the task before her.

"So, Meg," Greg's voice startled her, causing her to jump slightly. She turned her head to look at him. He was leaning against the table, his hip against the metal. His eyes met hers steadily, unwavering. He seemed so confident, so cool. Meg would have killed to have his self-assurance.

"Yeah?"

"You wouldn't happen to have any plans for this Friday, would you?" He asked.

"No," Meg said slowly, "I don't."

"Well, how about going out to dinner then?"

The question shocked Meg. She had known that this was what Greg was going to say, but the actual words shocked her nonetheless.

She looked at him, taking in his spiky hair and hazel eyes, his light skin- pale from working inside all the time- and his not overly muscular but decently built frame. He was a geek to be certain, but a handsome, swoon inducing geek. Meg found herself saying yes before her mind comprehended the words.

* * *

Hot water cascaded over her body, leaving red marks along her pale and flawless skin. The water beating against her back eased the tension that resided there. She sighed and turned so that she was facing the onslaught. The water fell over her head and ran down her face. She breathed deeply, spitting out the water that fell into her mouth. Things were not going well.

Her target was falling for everything, but the guilt was beginning to sneak in. She didn't want to do this. She didn't want to kill, not again. Mentally berating herself, she forced herself to push the guilt aside. She needed to focus, to do the job and get it over with. Then, and only then, could she be one step closer of being free from Him.

Turning the water off, she stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her dripping body. Thirsty, she walked out towards the living room/kitchen and stopped mid-step.

He was sitting on her couch, the book of poetry that Mindy had given her open in his lap. His eyes roved over her body as she stepped into the living room, taking in every inch of exposed skin. Never before had she been so aware of how short her towels actually were. She felt completely naked in front of him, and she didn't like that feeling. Fighting against the blush that wanted to run over her face, she forced herself to look him directly in the eye. Rule number one of dealing with her employer: Never let him know he intimidated you.

"What are you doing here?" She asked, crossing her arms in front of her. The action did nothing to help her feel covered.

His eyes snapped up from their position on the top of her breasts. He smirked as his eyes caught hers.

"Is that anyway to greet a friend?" She wanted to smack the smirk of the bastard's face, but held herself back. Now would not be the right time to do that. She needed to remain calm and deal with his presence rationally.

Taking a deep yoga breath, she tried to calm her nerves and racing heart.

"What do you want?" She tried to appear calm and collected, but she had a feeling that he could see right through her.

"I just wanted to see how you were coming along with your assignment." He stood and walked towards her, not stopping until his body was nearly flush against her own. She looked up at him, not allowing him to win the silent war that raged between them.

"I'm doing just fine on the job." She snapped. "And I would appreciate it if you would leave."

"Come, now," his finger ran along her jaw line, hooking beneath her chin, and a hand rested on her shoulder, caressing her bare skin, "is that anyway to talk to the man who only has your best interest at heart?"

She bit her lip, trying to keep back the retort that threatened to surface.

His eyes, ice blue and menacing, bored into hers. Blood drifted over her tongue, the copper taste mixed with his closeness nearly made her gag.

He gripped her chin tightly and pulled her face towards him. His lips were hard against hers. His tongue slid across her lower lip, forcing its way into her mouth. She wanted to gag, to bite his tongue and push him away from her. But she couldn't. She could show no repulsion, she could not resist. He held too much power over her. If she fought him, pushed him away, it would be the same as signing the death warrant herself.

His hands traveled down her arms, pulling down the towel that covered her. She tensed. This was further than he'd ever pushed before.

Before she knew what was happening, he had forced her back into the bedroom and down onto the bed. She closed her eyes tightly as his weight rested over her.

_Think of something else,_ her mind said, _pretend you are far from here._

She forced her mind to another place, another time, but it wasn't enough. Each touch of his hand on her skin, the penetration of his body into hers. She felt everything so keenly. Tears bit at the back of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. If they fell it would only be one more thing for him to use against hers. She allowed him to have what he wanted. Then, once he left, she cried herself to sleep.

* * *

So, what did you guys think? I'm going to keep updating this story, despite the lack of reviews, but it really would help me to know what you all think of the story. So, I'm issuing you all a challenge that I know you can meet. If I receive at least ten reviews I will do my best to update this story more regularly. I really hope that you all will review. After all, reviews are the lifeblood of a story. 


	5. A Date With Greg

Chapter Five

The neighborhood looked like something out of Desperate Housewives. The perfectly manicured lawns and gardens, the fancy cars in each driveway. It was Las Vegas's version of Wisteria Lane.

Meg watched the houses flash by as she and Catherine drove out to the vic's home. Catherine pulled her SUV into the driveway next to Brass's car and the two women stepped out into the hot sunshine.

"Hey, Brass." Catherine greeted the older man as he stepped out of his own car to greet them.

"Catherine." He nodded in greeting. "The house is all clear, so you can go ahead and get started."

"Always lookin' out for us, Jim." Catherine smiled as she unlocked the SUV's trunk and pulled out her and Meg's forensic kits. Handing Meg hers, the two women entered the house.

Catherine was instantly struck by the order of the house. The furniture was all set at right angles, the books on the bookshelves that lined one wall of the living room were all set up straight with their titles facing out and set in alphabetical order. Papers, which on closer inspection showed to be lists about everything from the grocery list to a To Do list, were lined up neatly on the granite counter separating the kitchen and living room.

"Ten bucks says this guy was OC." Meg said as she pulled on her latex gloves.

"Everything in here does seem to suggest some form of OCD." Catherine nodded, taking in the room. She turned towards Meg.

"You take the upstairs and I'll take the downstairs."

>>>>>

Meg carried her kit up the stairs, her footsteps silenced by the plush carpeting. Pushing open the door closest to the landing, she found herself in the bedroom. Closing her eyes, she breathed in the definite scent of a man.

It had been so long since she'd had a boyfriend that the simplest reminder of a man made her heart ache.

_You're going out with Greg on Friday._

The thought brought a smile to her face. Meg still couldn't believe she'd said yes to him. Greg was not the type of guy she usually went for. Meg liked those guys who could, literally, sweep her off her feet. Strong, blonde, surfer-good looks. That was more Meg's type. Hey, a California girl had to go for that type, it was in her blood. But Greg didn't fit that mold. He was different from any other guy Meg had dated. She wasn't used to going out with guys who could potentially be smarter than her. In her relationships she was always the smarter one. But Greg challenged all that. He challenged her typical way of life. He challenged _her_.

_You're digressing from your work._ The small voice in her head brought Meg back down to earth.

"Alright." She said to the empty room, "time to get down to business."

>>>>>

Catherine picked up a framed photo of the vic with a young woman. Both were laughing and had their arms wrapped around the other.

_A girlfriend maybe?_ She thought. _Definitely something worth looking into._

She moved on from the living room to a small study that was just as meticulously set up as the rest of the house. A rolodex sat proudly atop the oak desk and Catherine made a beeline for it. She flipped through the cards quickly, searching for any that might have little notes beside the names, before bagging it so that Brass could run the names later.

Moving through the rest of the house, Catherine gathered what little evidence she could find. There wasn't much to find, the vic's meticulous nature kept the house clean of any hairs or fibers that might have gotten onto the furniture or in the carpet.

"Any luck?" Catherine asked Meg when the two met by the car a few hours later.

"I found some women's clothes in the closet, but that was about it. This guy kept everything too clean though, even the pillows didn't have any hairs on them." Meg said with a shake of her head.

"Great." Catherine sighed and placed the kits and evidence in the back of her car. "I guess we should get back and process what we could find then."

>>>>>

Sara went over the clothing that Meg had brought from the vic's house with a fine toothed comb. She was not about to let one single strand of hair go unnoticed.

Maliciously she moved over every inch of designer fabric, until her eyes began to hurt. But still, not one hair could be found.

Bagging up the last of the clothes, Sara cursed and shook her head. She had gone over every bit of the vic's clothing and that of his girlfriend's, and not one bit of trace could be found.

Straightening from her stooped position, Sara stretched out the kinks in her back. Turning her head to the side, she could see Meg in the hall, talking animatedly to Nick.

A wave of hot emotions rolled over the CSI. She couldn't explain it, but something about Meg did not sit right with her. She was too nice, too eager to please and to help out. Her smile was always turned on full power and she always was willing to lend a hand.

It all grated on Sara's nerves. _Nobody_ could be that happy. It was impossible. Meg had to be hiding _something _behind that sunshiny exterior. But what?

>>>>>

A knock sounded on his office door, catching Grissom's attention. He looked up to see Brass standing there, a file in his hand.

"I tracked down everyone in the vic's address book." Brass said, coming further into the office when Grissom motioned him in. He placed the file on the desk.

"I sure hope one of those people can give you guys some leads."

"I hope that too." Grissom said with a nod. Brass said a quick good-bye and left the CSI to look over the file.

Grissom wasted no time in opening the file and flipping through the numerous pages. Each person associated with the vic had an address beside their name, followed by a list of criminal acts- if they had committed any that is- and other personal information. The list of people went on for at least twenty pages, the names blurring together until Grissom didn't think that he could read anymore. Then something jumped out at him.

_Clarissa Donaldson: No information provided._

>>>>>

"I want you to dig up every bit of information you can about this woman." Grissom said, "I want to know why she doesn't come up in the computers."

"This might take awhile, but I'll see what I can find." Warrick said, taking the file containing Clarissa Donaldson's blank information sheet.

He had no clue how he was going to find a person whose file gave him no information to go on, but Warrick had worked on harder things and knew that if he persisted it would pay off.

>>>>>

Meg sat in front of her mirror, carefully applying her lipstick so as not to get any on her teeth.

It was Friday night and Greg was due to pick her up at any moment.

For two days she had waited anxiously for this night, and, finally, it was here. And Meg was a nervous wreck. It had been forever since she'd been on a date, and she was nervous about whether or not she and Greg could carry on a conversation that didn't include the case.

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her nerves. It was going to be alright. She was going to do fine, and she and Greg would have plenty to talk about.

_You're just nervous 'cause you like the guy, that's all_, she told herself. _You are gonna do great_.

As if sensing that the end of her little pep talk had come, the doorbell rang. Meg stood and, after checking to make sure that her dress wasn't wrinkled, strode into the living room to open the door.

Greg stood there, dressed in black pants and a blue button down shirt. A bouquet of flowers in his hand.

"Well, well, well, don't you clean up nicely." Meg teased as she took in his outfit and his hair, which he had left unspiked. Meg had to admit, he looked good.

"Why thank you." Greg smirked. "I gotta say, you look pretty hot yourself."

Meg blushed, absently mindedly running a hand over the nonexistent wrinkles in her ruby red cocktail dress.

"These are for you." He said, gallantly presenting the flowers he held.

"Ahh, tulips, my favorite." Meg smiled as she accepted the flowers. "How did you know?"

"I'm all knowing." He replied, a teasing glint in his eye. Meg chuckled and shook her head.

"C'mon on in while I put these in some water." She stepped out of the doorway and allowed Greg to enter.

"Nice place." He said, surveying the apartment. Meg walked into the kitchen and pulled down a vase from one of the cupboards.

"It's small," she said, filling the vase with water, "but it's home."

Setting the vase on the kitchen counter, Meg grabbed her small handbag and turned toward Greg.

"Well I'm ready."

Greg offered her his arm and said, "Then let's go."

>>>>>

The restaurant that Greg chose for their date was a small Italian place with dim lighting and candles on the every table. The mood was romantic, with light classical music playing in the background. Couples sat at small tables, perfect for two, talking to one another in hushed tones so as not to disturb the other couples around them.

Greg pulled out Meg's chair for her before sitting down in his own. With her face lit up by the glow of two candles, Greg couldn't help but think how beautiful she looked. Her hair was loose around her shoulders and curled into loose corkscrew curls, which framed her face perfectly. Behind her glasses, her olive green eyes stared back at Greg with quiet intensity. A smile graced her lips, lighting up her whole face.

He hadn't realized he was staring until Meg shifted uncomfortably in her seat. Quickly, Greg dropped his gaze down to the menu that sat before him.

As Greg tried to decipher what the Italian dishes were so that he could figure out something other than pasta to order, Meg cleared her throat.

"Do you maybe want to go some place else?" She asked when Greg turned his attention back to her. "I mean," she continued hastily, "this place is amazing and all, but it's not really my kinda scene."

Greg could have sighed in relief. The stuffy restaurant, despite it's romantic atmosphere, was not the first place Greg would have chosen for a date. But he had thought that Meg would like it, so that was where he'd decided to take her. He himself, though, would have been more comfortable at a bar or some obscure diner.

"How about we go grab some burgers." He suggested.

"Sounds great." Meg replied with a smile.

>>>>>

"Being in the FBI is kinda like a family tradition." Meg said between bites of her burger.

After leaving the restaurant, Greg had led Meg to an out of the way diner where he had ordered them both chili cheese burgers with the works, claiming that they were "the best burgers on the planet." Though they were a bit overdressed for the diner, Meg felt much more at ease than in the restaurant.

"Ever since the FBI was created the oldest male in my family became an agent. Unfortunately for my dad, he didn't have any sons. So, being the oldest I decided that I would join the FBI." Meg continued.

"Didn't you ever want to be anything else?" Greg asked. He just couldn't seem to wrap his mind around the fact that people would choose a career only because it was expected of them.

"I did, but being an agent was something that my family always thought was important." Meg shrugged off Greg's question as if it were no big deal.

"What did you want to be?"

"Promise not to laugh if I tell you?"

Greg nodded. "Scout's honor."

"Okay," Meg leaned forward, as if what she had to tell him was a big secret, "I wanted to be that lady in the circus who twirls by her hair."

Despite his promise, Greg couldn't help the laugh that bubbled up from his throat.

"Hey!" Meg slapped his arm playfully, "you promised not to laugh."

"I'm sorry," Greg shook his head, his sides beginning to ache from laughing so hard. "I can't help it. That's really what you wanted to be?"

Meg nodded.

"Well what about you?" She said, turning his question around on him. "What did you want to be before you chose to work as a CSI?"

"To be honest, I don't really remember." Greg said after gaining control of his laughing. "I just always knew I wanted to do something with science."

"Yeah, science is cool. Though I have to admit, I didn't always like it." She said. "But, being an agent, you learn to appreciate science and all that it allows you to do."

Greg bit into his burger and studied Meg carefully. She seemed so happy and carefree, yet something lingered beneath the surface. Something lay hidden behind her eyes, a deep and heavy burden that seemed to hold her in a silent prison.

"So," Meg pushed her empty plate away from her and leaned back against the vinyl seat of the booth. "What now?"

>>>>>

A bit longer of a chapter. I hope you guys are enjoying this and I hope that you'll review, 'cause I _**really**_ need reviews you guys. They are my lifeblood and the thing that keep the ideas flowinginside this pretty little head of mine.

cheggly: Thank you for reviewing this story. It really means a lot that people share their opinions with me about what I write.


	6. A Bit Closer

Hey y'all. So, finally, there's an update! Sorry I haven't posted in awhile. I've been busy with school and stuff. Y'all know how it is.

Anyways, a special shout out to all y'all who reviewed last chapter: _chelsea, El Gringo Loco (thanks for the AMAZING compliment), Nicole101, _and_ bmo16. _Thank you all so much. Now, on with the chapter.

Chapter Six

Laughing, Meg unlocked the door to her apartment. She walked inside and flicked on the living room light, Greg following in behind her.

After eating dinner, the two had wandered around Vegas, checking out the Strip and stopping in a bar to grab some drinks. They had talked the whole time they were out, never once having to stop to think of something to say. The conversation flowed easily between them. Every subject was covered, from family to favorite childhood memories.

"You want some coffee or something?" Meg asked as she placed her purse on the couch and moved into the kitchen.

"Sure, coffee sounds good." Greg said.

"Okay, just make yourself at home. The coffee should be ready in a little while." Meg said as she moved around the kitchen getting out mugs and turning on the coffee pot.

Greg sat on the couch and looked around the small apartment. There wasn't much there, just the necessities, and some black and white photos decorating the walls. It was obvious that Meg wasn't home much.

"What do you like in your coffee?" Meg called from the kitchen.

"Nothing, I just drink it black." He replied, getting up from the couch to look at the photos that lined the top of the entertainment center. There were pictures of her family (her father and all six of her sisters), and one of a woman who looked very similar to Meg.

"Alright, two coffees all ready." Meg walked into the living room and placed the mugs on the coffee table.

Greg turned towards her, the picture of the woman in his hand.

"Is this your mom?" He asked. Meg nodded and walked over to take the picture from him. Her eyes held traces of tears as she looked down at the woman who she so resembled.

"This was the only picture that I saved of her. Dad trashed the rest of them. He said that he couldn't bare to be reminded of what he'd lost."

Greg placed a comforting hand on her shoulder, knowing that he couldn't do much to lessen the pain of her mother's death.

"So," Meg placed the photo back in its spot and went to sit on the couch, "how 'bout a movie?"

Greg watched as Meg bustled about selecting a DVD and putting it in the player. It was obvious she didn't want to talk about her mother, but Greg didn't think that avoiding the topic was altogether healthy. He let the matter drop, however, and sat down on the couch beside Meg to watch the movie.

>>>>>

Catherine studied the photograph that she had taken from the vic's house.

There he stood, smiling and happy with an arm around the waist of a young woman. She was of average height and had dark black hair and hazel eyes. There was nothing out of the ordinary about the girl, but yet something about her stuck out in Catherine's mind. She seemed almost, familiar. But yet Catherine had never laid eyes on the woman except for in that photo.

>>>>>

His eyes roving over the computer screen, Warrick worked to find any mention of Clarissa Donaldson in past newspapers, legal documents, and any other trace documents that he could find. But she was nowhere to be found. It was as if the woman had come out of nowhere and disappeared into the same oblivion.

"Anything yet?" Nick asked, coming into the room and sitting at a computer opposite Warrick.

"Absolutely nothing." Warrick shook his head. "It's like this girl never even existed."

"Maybe she didn't." The two men turned to see Catherine leaning against the doorframe. She held up the photograph of the vic and their mystery lady.

"What are you talking about, Cath?" Warrick said.

Catherine moved from her spot in the doorway and placed the photo beside Warrick. Nick leaned over to look at the picture.

"Maybe Clarissa Donaldson is our killer."

>>>>>

Beams of sunlight filtered in through the heavy curtains that covered the windows. She turned onto her side, hair streaming over her shoulder and the creamy white pillowcase. A groan escaped her lips as she placed a hand over her eyes to shield them from the persistent and annoying rays.

She didn't want to get out of bed. The guilt that weighed upon her was too heavy for even try to attempt to get up. But he was meeting her today for a progress report. Damn him for wanting to be so "involved" in her job. She didn't want to see him, to look at his face after what he had done to her.

In the past he had always been suggestive and flirty. He'd kissed her on more than one occasion and even felt her up. But never, _never_ had he raped her. The very thought of his actions made her feel vile and dirty. It was as if she could shower a million times and still never be clean again.

A hot tear slid down her face, leaving a scorching trail of guilt and repulsion in its wake.

The alarm on her clock sounded, time to begin another day.

>>>>>

"Clarissa Donaldson was dating our vic for five months. They started out with the vic serving as a financial advisor for her company and the relationship grew from there. I interviewed some of the vic's friends and they all claim that he and Miss Donaldson were madly in love." Catherine said, leaning back in her chair.

Across from her sat Grissom, his hands steepled and his chin resting on his upturned fingers.

"Where's Miss Donaldson now?" He asked.

"Gone." Catherine shook her head. "There's no trace of her anywhere. None of the vic's friends have seen her. Her business has been shut down. And her apartment is empty."

Grissom stared at the wall of his office, deep in thought.

"It's like she's dropped off the face of the earth, Griss. We're not gonna find her anywhere." She sighed wearily. So much of her time and energy had been put into this case, and now their one lead had disappeared. Catherine felt as if the weight of the world was settling on her shoulders.

Grissom remained silent, lost in his thoughts, his mind bending and twisting in unfathomable ways as he contemplated all the possibilities.

Then, as if coming out of a trance, his eyes focused on Catherine.

"We need to find out the suspects in the other cases." He said.

"Okay," Catherine stood, resisting the urge to stretch the kink in her back, "I'll talk to Meg and see what she can get us."

As Catherine left the room, Grissom returned to his ponderings. The key was in the other suspects, he just knew it. Now if only the FBI would agree to allow Grissom's team to look at the files of the other cases.

>>>>>

An arm draped itself around her waist as Meg stood over the microscope inspecting the one or two fibers that they had been able to recover from the vic's home. Startled, she turned around and found herself face to face with a grinning Greg Sanders.

"Oh my god, you scared me." Meg said, placing a hand over her heart. Greg's smile widened. Meg felt a tug at her heartstrings. He was just so damn beautiful.

"What are you working on?" He asked, moving to lean against the table top.

"A dead-end." Meg replied with a sigh. She took the slide out from under the microscope and placed it back in its container before turning to face Greg.

"Shouldn't you be working?" She asked, her voice nothing more than a playful reprimand.

"Got nothing to work on until we get those case files from your boss." Greg replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Case files?" Meg hadn't heard anything about case files being sent over.

"Yeah, turns out Grissom and Catherine found out who the murderer might have been and now they're askin' for copies of the files from the other four cases so that they can see if their findings match up."

"Oh." Meg ran a hand through her hair. A silence fell over the pair. Not an uncomfortable one, but one of companionship.

"So," Greg said, finally breaking the silence, "I had a great time last night."

Meg felt her cheeks flush slightly.

"Yeah, me too."

And she had. They had sat on her couch until late that night, watching movies and talking. Meg had curled up against Greg, a sense of safety and security coming over her as she had sat snuggled in his arms. She liked that feeling.

They hadn't kissed, though Greg had wanted to. But Meg stopped him. After all, a lady doesn't kiss on the first date, she waits till the second.

"I was thinking we should do it again." Greg offered.

"Definitely." Meg smiled. She couldn't help it. Greg just made her feel so happy.

_I'm falling in love with him_, she thought. _I know I shouldn't, but I am._

>>>>>

So, what did you guys think? Please review and tell me what you thought.


	7. Premonitions

Yippee, another chapter!

I want to thank all y'all who reviewed last chapter: _bmo16, nicole101, and grullo-cowgirl. _You guys rock!

Chapter Seven

Agent Adam Wilkins strode into the forensics lab, chin held high and an air of authority about him. He held a black briefcase in his hand, and it hit against his leg with each long stride.

The FBI had sent him back to Vegas, intrusting only him with the job of delivering the case files of the four previous murders. The job was supposed to be one of prestige- delivering confidential information- but Wilkins thought it only a mundane task, unworthy of his attention. He should have been working on tracking down the Ice Assassin, not delivering stupid files. But who was he to question the jobs that his superiors gave him?

Meg greeted him at the entrance to Gil Grissom's office. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail and she was dressed casually in black slacks and a light blue blouse. Her gun was stuck in the holster attached to her belt. Adam couldn't resist the urge to look her up and down. He'd always appreciated things that were beautiful. And Meg was definitely beautiful, in a fierce Amazon way. And that beauty was one of the things that made working with her such a joy.

"Agent Sawyer." Wilkins greeted, inclining his head towards her in a nod of recognition.

"Wilkins." She replied. Her pretty mouth was set in a grim line. Apparently she didn't appreciate his appraising her.

A sly smirk tugged at the corners of Wilkins' mouth, betraying his authortive manner.

"I trust you've been keeping busy around here." He said.

Meg's eyes narrowed.

"I've been doing my job, if that's what you're asking." She replied sternly, leaving no room for banter. Wilkins admired her no-nonsense work ethic.

At that moment Grissom opened the door to his office. Wilkins greeted him with a hello and a handshake. Grissom led the way, then, down the hall to a conference room, where the rest of his team was waiting.

>>>>>

Greg could feel the tension surrounding Meg as she sat down beside him at the table. He turned to her, offering a smile. Meg returned the smile, albeit a bit rigidly. Beneath the table, Greg gripped her knee and squeezed, sending her a silent message that he was right there with her. He could feel her muscles relax slightly, and couldn't help but wonder what she was so tense about. Sure her superior was there, but it couldn't be that stressful to have to see him. Could it?

Agent Wilkins stood at the head of the table, taking the case files out of his briefcase. His gray eyes flitted across the faces of those seated at the table, his gaze lingering a bit too long on Meg.

Beneath his hand, Greg could feel her muscles once more tense up. He moved his hand from her knee and reached to encompass her slim fingers with his own. Her fingers curled around his, and Greg found himself smiling.

Last night had been so perfect. He'd never spent so much time just talking to a woman before. It had amazed him that their conversation had flowed so easily without any awkward pauses at all. The hours that he had spent at Meg's apartment had been just as wonderful, if not more so, than their time at dinner. The way that she had curled up against him while they watched the movie had driven Greg mad. He wanted to do so much more than hold her, but Meg insisted that they take their newfound relationship slowly. And so Greg had refrained from his instincts. He had acted a gentleman that night. But it had been a hard struggle to do so. His restraint had paid off, however, and he had another date with Meg for that night.

Agent Wilkins was talking, but Greg barely listened. The older man was going on about something akin to how the information in the files that he was giving them was confidential and should be kept secret from anyone not in that room. It was a load of crap that Greg already knew. He couldn't help but think that his man was a pompous ass with the way that he seemed to be talking down to the CSIs. And, with a glance at his comrades, Greg could see that his sentiments were shared.

>>>>>

Meg drew her jacket out of her locker and slipped it on. It'd been a long day and she was anxious to get home and get some rest. But she knew that her mind would not allow her peace. Troubled thoughts flew back and forth within her brain, questions and non-answers pestered her.

Closing her locker, Meg jumped slightly to find Wilkins standing there. She placed a hand over her racing heart before forcing her face into an unreadable mask.

"What do you want?" She asked, not all too kindly.

"We have some things we need to discuss." He stated simply, his tone just as emotionless as the rest of him. Meg scowled. She was not in the mood to talk to him right then.

She'd never liked Wilkins, not since the first moment the bureau placed them together as partners. He'd always been too slick for her what with his obviously sexist comments and the way that he always had sexual innuendo in response to anything she said. He was a pig and a pervert and Meg didn't like him in the least. But, he was her partner nevertheless.

"What things?" She asked, readjusting her gun as she kept her eyes on his.

"Important things." He replied, his practiced mask remaining completely intact.

"Fine." Meg huffed unhappily. "Then let's discuss them."

A sly smile spread slowly across his face.

"I don't think you'd want to discuss them here." He replied in a sickly sweet voice. "Let's go somewhere a bit more…_private_."

Cursing under her breath, Meg followed him out of the locker room.

>>>>>

The two agents left the locker room, and Sara watched their retreating backs through eyes narrowed in suspicion. She'd overheard their entire conversation; heard each and every cryptic word.

Sara pursed her lips and her brow furrowed in thought. The conversation between the two had been so enigmatic. What did it mean? What could they be hiding?

From the first moment that Sara had laid eyes on Meg, she'd known that something about her was not right. She'd never been able to place her finger on it. But the feeling had been there, pestering Sara to no end.

_And now there's something new to add to the puzzle_.

Whatever was going on, Sara was determined to find out.

>>>>>

Outside the diner window, life in Las Vegas continued on as always. The heavy stream of traffic and pedestrians was not in the least bit affected by what was going on inside the diner. The outside world knew nothing of the inner-turmoil that raged deep within Meg's soul. And even if the world knew it was doubtless anyone would care.

Across the table sat Wilkins, his head tilted to the side as he surveyed Meg. She bristled beneath his gaze, wanting nothing more than to poke his repugnant eyes out from his head. But she contained herself, though it was quite difficult to do so.

"Well, you wanted to talk, so talk." She said, not at all bothering to hide the disdain in her voice.

"Why must you always rush things?" Wilkins asked, leaning back in his seat and placing his hands leisurely behind his head.

Meg scowled, something that she found herself doing more and more often whenever Wilkins was in her presence.

He smirked and reached for his coffee.

>>>>>

"Hey, have you guys seen Meg?" Greg asked as he joined Nick and Catherine in one of the small conference rooms. The two were looking over the files that Agent Wilkins had brought in only an hour before.

"I haven't seen her since the meeting." Catherine replied with a shake of her head. Greg turned to Nick.

"Me neither man." The other CSI responded.

"Alright, thanks." Greg left the room.

Where could Meg be? He hadn't seen her since she left the meeting. He could still feel the tension that had filled her and he hoped that she was alright.

His mind drifted to Agent Wilkins. There was something about the man that did feel right to Greg. Other than the obvious arrogance there was something that Greg didn't like about him. And it wasn't the way that the agent's eyes kept moving to Meg every other second.

_It's probably nothing,_ he thought, pushing the worries to the back of his mind.

>>>>>

Nick glanced over the files of the Ice Assassin's earlier victims. Within the thick files, amid the photos of the crime scenes and dead bodies, were family photos taken from each victim's home. And in each photos there was a woman.

She differed in each case file, but she was there.

"It's amazing," Nick said, picking up two photos from different files, "there's barely any resemblance between each photo. How does she do it?"

"The wonder of prosthetics." Catherine shook her head. "Good for her, bad for us."

"Guess we better get started then," Nick said. "I'll run these down to Archie and see if he can't make as a composite of what our killer looks like."

>>>>>

Ooh, their getting closer to figuring out who the killer is. But who's the target? I think that I'm nearing the end of this story. I'm not sure when I'm gonna finish it, but I'm pretty certain that the end is looming near. There are still a bunch of things that I want to cover, but I don't think there'll be too many more chapters after this one. Sad, I know. Anyways, please review and tell me what you thought of this chapter.


	8. The Signal

Thank you to all you guys who reviewed last chapter: _angw, nicole101, Mma63, _and _grullo-cowgirl._ Thank you all so much.

Chapter Eight

Hot tears slid down Meg's cheeks. She wiped them away with trembling hands and replaced her mother's picture to its resting place. The thought of her mother always brought on sad memories, but never had Meg outright cried.

But that was before.

Now, Meg's life was a mess and she was swiftly losing her grip on the small part she still controlled.

"Get a grip, Sawyer," she chastised herself. "Greg's gonna be here any second and you need to look…not so crappy."

She moved into the bathroom and splashed cold water on her face. Her gaze moved up to the mirror and her eyes fixed on her reflection. It was a dismal picture that stared back at her.

Before another fit of tears could overwhelm her, Meg turned away from the mirror and walked into her bedroom to get ready for her and Greg's date.

>>>>>

Though she was laughing and smiling, Greg couldn't help but think that something was wrong. Meg wasn't acting like herself. She had been so chipper when he'd picked her up, but Greg had seen the red that rimmed her eyes.

_What happened between this morning and tonight?_ He wondered, fixing his eyes on Meg's face. Her smile seemed brittle and forced and her eyes kept scanning the restaurant as if waiting for someone to jump out and yell "boo." She tried to hide the tension in her shoulders and the way that her back was perfectly straight, as if poised to run at a moment's notice. But Greg could see through it. He could see the fear that loomed beneath her sunny exterior.

"Meg," he interrupted whatever it was that she was saying. Her eyes flew to his in surprise.

"Meg," he repeated, "is something wrong?"

"What? No, nothing's wrong." She replied hastily with a shake of her head. Greg didn't buy it.

"You seem really tense tonight." He said. Meg shook her head again, her dark blonde hair brushing against her face.

"What do you mean tense? I'm perfectly fine, Greg." She hastened to assure him.

There was no way that he was going to get anything out of her. So, he dropped the subject and, instead, focused his attention on making that night as enjoyable and relaxing as he could.

>>>>>

Nick watched as Archie carefully matched up features from each photograph. The carefully constructed face that loomed on the large screen was slowly coming together and Nick felt a prickle of anticipation travel down his spine as he waited for the final result.

"Now we just need to add hair and eye color." Archie said, scrolling down a list of possibilities. With one click he brought up hair color and with another the eyes.

"And there we go." Archie said, leaning back in his chair.

Nick stared, shocked, at the face that gazed back at him. Barely able to believe what he was seeing, he could only breathe three words. "Oh my god."

>>>>>

There was a signal for when it was time to kill her victims. A signal that he had given her when she'd received her first assignment. It was a signal derived to inflict as much pain on the victim as possible, but she never knew that it would hurt her as well. The signal was nothing more than a simple word: Love.

>>>>>

They walked out of the restaurant to Greg's car, his arm securely around her waist. Meg felt a safeness within his hold; a sense of security that she hadn't felt in a long time. And it was nice. Comforting. Familiar.

They barely knew each other, and yet, Meg felt herself falling more and more in love with him. And it was a sentiment, she was certain, that was reciprocated. The words hadn't been said yet, but Meg felt it deep within her that it wouldn't be long before one of them said those three little words. The three words that everyone in the world longs to hear: I love you.

She wanted to hear those words so badly, wanted to know that she wasn't the only one to feel that way. And yet, she didn't want him to say it. She wanted him to remain quiet and have them simply go on as they were without uttering those words. Because Meg knew that the second those words left his lips, everything would change. Their entire relationship would change into something that Meg wasn't certain she was ready for.

The ride to Meg's apartment was short. Too short. Before she knew it she was unlocking her door and opening it to let herself and Greg inside. The date was near an end, and they still hadn't kissed. Meg wanted to kiss him, but she was afraid of making the first move. And she was afraid of what that action would bring. Would the connection of their lips bring forth the words that she both wanted and didn't want to hear? Perhaps. But why she should fear those words? Words themselves were not harmful. So why fear them?

Meg took off her jacket and placed it over the arm of the couch. Greg placed his jacket over hers and, to Meg, there was something so intimate about their coats touching. She took a step towards the kitchen, going in there to make coffee or at least do something that would occupy her mind and keep those pesky doubts and thoughts from her mind. But Greg took her hand in his, halting her steps. His fingers encased themselves around hers, flooding Meg with a sense of warmth. Her eyes flew to his, questioning. Greg leaned forward, his lips parted slightly in anticipation. Meg's tongue slid out quickly to moisten her lips in an unconscious act of expectancy. Her breath came out in short gasps as Greg slowly moved closer. It was agonizing torture to just stand there and wait for the kiss that was coming. Her heart raced and the blood pounded in her ears. She was oblivious of everything but Greg. The way his hand wrapped around hers, the smell of his cologne, the look in his eyes, the way that his nearness affected her. It was all too much for Meg. And, just as she was about to pull away, his lips connected with her own.

>>>>>

"Grissom!" Nick ran down the hall after the older man. Grissom turned and Nick skidded to a halt in front of him. The younger CSIs breathing came out in harried gasps.

"Something wrong, Nick?" Grissom asked, one eyebrow arched in question. Nick handed him a piece of paper. Grissom took it and looked at the photo there. His eyes widened slightly as he beheld the face laying there. He turned back to Nick.

"Get Brass."

>>>>>

It was waiting in her freezer for when the time came for its use. She had made it carefully. She'd filled the mold with water and, once it'd frozen, she had carefully whittled it until the point was sharp enough to kill. The weapon was ready. The stage was set. Now all that was needed, was the signal.

>>>>>

Meg fell back onto her couch, Greg landing softly on top of her, their lips connected in a heated kiss. His hands rested on her hips, holding her gently as if she were a porcelain doll easily broken. She liked that about him. The way that he treated her like something that was special. The way he treated her like a woman and not just a colleague who he thought was pretty. Her own hands were wrapped around his neck, pulling his mouth as tight against her own as she could. Once the connection had been made, she didn't want it broken. She craved his touch like a starving man, and needed his kisses as much as her deprived lungs needed oxygen.

The kiss was broken, each breathing in deeply to gain their second wind, and then they resumed. A delightful shiver ran down Meg's spine as Greg's tongue ran across her bottom lip. She parted her lips to grant him access and his tongue quickly snaked into her mouth. His hands slid beneath her shirt and his touch moved up and down her sides. Goosebumps sprung up on her flesh wherever his hands touched her.

They remained like that, locked in a passionate and all consuming kiss, until time seemed like nothing more than a fleeting concept.

When their supply of air, and their energy, was out they finally broke apart. Meg placed a hand over her swollen lips. Lips on which Greg's taste still lingered. Their eyes were locked together and they seemed unable to tear their gazes away.

It was going to happen. Meg could sense it. Time was suspended between them, waiting. Waiting for Greg to say it. Meg knew it was coming and her mind reeled with what would happen afterwards.

"Meg," his voice was a husky whisper that raised goosebumps on her arms.

"Yes?" Her own voice was nothing more than a whisper of anticipation.

"I love you."

There it was, the words that she had been dreading. The signal.

>>>>>

Dun, dun, dun. Lol. Ooh another evil cliffhanger. What's gonna happen? And who knew that Meg was the dreaded Ice Assassin? I probably won't be updating for awhile, 'cause my family is going to my grandma's house the day after Christmas. So, Merry Christmas to all y'all and I hope you'll review.


	9. Hesitation

Happy new year everyone! I thought that, to ring in the new year, I would post another chapter. Yippee for me! Lol. Anyways, a big shout out to those who reviewed last chapter: _Nicole101_, _bmo16_, and _grullo-cowgirl_. You girls totally rock!

Chapter Nine

"No," Meg pushed Greg off her, "no, you can't say that."

Stunned, Greg stared at her, lost for words.

"What?" He stared at Meg, wondering what was going on inside her head. Any girl would be happy for a guy to say they loved them. So why was Meg looking so frightened?

"Meg, what are you saying?"

"Take it back," she ordered, tears glistening in her eyes. "Please, Greg, take it back."

"I don't underst-"

"Tell me you hate me and that you never want to see me again." She stood, pacing the floor and looking for all the world like a caged animal with wide, fearful eyes. "Say it, or there's nothing I can do to stop this."

"Stop what? Damn it, Meg, you're not making any sense."

Tears streamed down her cheeks in twin waterfalls and Greg regretted his harsh words. She was so fragile at that moment, like a porcelain doll. He stood and wrapped her in his arms.

"What's going on?" He asked in an anxious whisper. "Whatever it is, you can tell me."

"I wish that were true," Meg sobbed into his shoulder, her tears soaking through his shirt and dampening his skin. "God you have no idea how I wish that were true."

Confused, Greg could only hold Meg and hope that that was enough.

>>>>>

"Where is Meg?" Brass asked, looking up from the composite photo of Meg's face.

"We don't know." Grissom shook his head. "She has the night off, so there's no telling where she is."

Brass sighed tiredly. No one had seen this coming.

"Well, we have two options then. Either we wait until she comes in tomorrow morning and arrest her then, or we track her down and end this now." Brass looked back down at the photos, still not believing what was right before his eyes.

"You're sure it's her."

"It's Meg." Grissom replied, a look of sorrow crossing his face. Who ever would have suspected Meg- sweet and innocent Meg- to be such a cold-hearted killer?

"Grissom?" Nick's head came into view around the corner of the doorway.

"Yes, Nick?"

Sensing the weariness in the room, Nick stepped inside and shut the door behind him.

"I uh, I might know where we can find Meg."

Both men perked up at the words. Though they did not want to arrest Meg, they knew that her crimes could not be ignored. And, if she was planning to kill again, she could not be left on the streets.

"Where?" Brass asked, his hand already poised over the phone to call the dispatcher.

"Greg told me that the two of them were going out tonight."

"That doesn't give us any location, Nick." Grissom said, shaking his head.

"I know, but Greg told me that last time they went back to Meg's place afterwards. They might go back there tonight."

Immediately, Brass picked up his phone and dialed, commanding the dispatcher to send available units to Meg's apartment.

Grissom turned to Nick as Brass gave the dispatcher the address.

"Call Greg," he told Nick, "tell him that under no circumstances is he to enter Meg's apartment."

Nick nodded and turned to leave.

"And, Nick," Grissom called after him, "make sure that you don't tell Greg anything about what's going on."

>>>>>

The feel of Greg's arms around her only caused Meg to cry more. She couldn't endure this any longer. She couldn't stand to have him holding her when she was supposed to kill him. Her sobs grew in force until her entire body shook. And Greg only held her tighter.

Minutes passed in what seemed like hours to Meg. Her heart hurt. Searing, burning pain that would not ease. Guilt. How could she kill him? How could she kill the one man that she had ever truly grown to love?

_Love_.

The word struck Meg with the force of a Mac truck. It was true. She had grown to love him in a way that she had never loved her previous victims. Sure she had felt something for all of them, but Greg was the only one that she had ever truly loved. Meg was so shocked by this revelation that she became instantly silent.

The silence seemed to hang over them both, like a weighted cloud. Meg stared into the fabric of Greg's shirt. The brown and blue stripes seeming to swirl together in a haze of confusion.

"Are you okay?" Greg asked, his voice heavy with concern. Meg looked up into his worried and anxious eyes, unsure of what to say.

_Forget everything,_ said a small voice in her head, _forget that you love him. Forget that you even know him. Just do the job._

She didn't want to, but Meg knew that she had to listen to that devilish voice. There was no other choice.

She forced herself to focus on the task at hand. Now was not the time to let personal feelings get in the way. She had a job to do. So, wiping her mind clear of all thought, Meg nodded slowly and stepped back from Greg.

"I'm fine." She replied shakily. "I'm real sorry Greg, it's been a weird day for me." She forced a laugh.

"Alright," Greg replied hesitantly. "As long as you're sure you're fine."

"I am." She smiled weakly and chuckled slightly at his disbelieving look. "I swear I'm fine." She moved towards the kitchen. "Now, how about some coffee."

>>>>>

He checked his watch. The minute hand had barely moved since the last time he'd checked it. When was she going to call? When would the job be over?

The waitress stopped at his table and refilled the mug of coffee in front of him. He smiled up at her with that debonair smile of his and the dim-witted woman nearly swooned into his lap.

He chuckled to himself. Women were so easy. Except for Meg.

A slick smile pulled at the corners of his mouth. He never knew how to read Meg. One minute she was hot, the other cold. She was like an ever changing book. Just when you thought you had her figured out, another layer appeared. Perhaps that was why she interested him so much. Perhaps that was why he had chosen her in the first place.

>>>>>

It sat there, staring at her, mocking her.

Meg reached into the back of the freezer with one shaking hand and pulled out the leather case and opened it. And there it was. Cold and deadly. Much like Meg needed to be. She stared at it until her vision swam, but could not bring herself to pluck the weapon from its case.

_Do it,_ the evil part of her brain persisted, _do it now._

Closing her eyes, Meg reached for the weapon and pulled it from its case. The ice was slick beneath her fingers, but she gripped it tightly, her fingers finding their familiar spots. She allowed one last tear to escape before she opened her eyes and turned to go into the living room.

>>>>>

The ring of Greg's cell phone broke through the silence of the living room. He checked the caller id. Nick. For a second, Greg pondered whether or not to answer. Meg was still in the kitchen getting the coffee ready, giving Greg enough time to say hi and find out what Nick wanted. His finger was about to press the talk button when Meg walked through the doorway separating the kitchen and living room. She smiled at him.

Greg wasn't sure what had been going on with her earlier. He wanted her to tell him, to explain why she'd acted like a complete lunatic. What was it that she'd wanted him to take back? Did she fear the fact that he loved her? But why should she? Love wasn't something that was evil, it was something precious. Something that Greg had never really felt for a woman, at least not until Meg came along.

He returned her smile, hoping to put her more at ease with him, and turned off his phone.

>>>>>

Police cars sped towards the apartment building. Their lights flashed, casting blue and red light over the ground, but their sirens remained silent. They had been ordered to remain silent, lest Meg hear them and know that she had been found out.

Behind the squad cars, Grissom followed in his own car. Though he showed no emotion, his heart was pounding inside his chest. He only hoped that they were not too late.

>>>>>

Another cliffhanger folks. Gosh am I evil or what?

I'm grateful for every review I get, but I would like to have more people review. So, if you guys can give me at least ten reviews this chapter I promise I'll have the next chapter up in one week or less. You think you guys can rise to the challenge?

Anyways, I hope you all liked this chapter and will share your thoughts with me.


	10. Moment of Truth

I'd like to thank all y'all who reviewed last chapter: _daily_, _bmo16_, _gumdroplover_, _grullo-cowgirl_, and _Nicole101_. You guys totally rock!

Chapter Ten

She stood in the doorway, leaning against the wood frame as Greg got up from the couch and walked towards her. Her right arm was behind her back, hiding the weapon from his view. Meg's fingers were numb from the cold of the make-shift dagger. She flexed her fingers, trying to keep the blood flowing through them.

He stood in front of her, a smile on his face. There was something so captivating about his smile, something so amazing that Meg found her resolve faltering. Her fingers relaxed.

_Do it NOW_, commanded the ever present demon in Meg's mind. Her fingers tightened once more around the weapon. Her mind was made up. There was no going back now.

Greg placed a hand on the doorframe and leaned against it.

"So," he said, his charming smile turning into a smirk, "if I kiss you again are you going to break down in tears?"

"You'll just have to try and see." Meg replied, returning his smirk. Greg chuckled and leaned in. Instinctively, Meg's muscles tensed, ready.

* * *

"Damn it!" Nick closed his phone. "He's not answering."

In the break room, four anxious CSIs sat, waiting to hear the outcome of Meg's arrest. And whether or not Greg was alright.

Leaning against the wall, Sara shook her head.

"I knew that something was up with Meg," she said to no one in particular, "but you guys just brushed it off. And now look what's happening. Greg could get killed all because nobody would listen to me. And-"

"Sara, shut up. Okay. Just shut the hell up." Nick snapped. All eyes turned on to him, surprised at his outburst. "We're all worried about Greg," he continued, "but who's to say that he's even her target, or if she even _has _a target right now."

"Don't be stupid, Nick," Sara said, her nostrils flaring slightly in irritation. "She and Greg have been spending all their time together. It's obvious that he's her next victim. And if you guys had just listened to me-"

"Enough." Catherine stepped in between the two. She put up her hands as if to ward off any attack. "We don't know what's going on, and going at each other's throats is not a good idea right now. We need to remain calm and wait for Grissom's call."

Grissom's call. The words hung in the air. They all knew what that call would hold. Either he would tell them to go back to work, or to come to Meg's apartment and process a crime scene. None of them wanted the latter to be the answer.

* * *

He kissed her. Wrapping his arms around her waist and pushing her up against the doorframe, Greg kissed her with all the passion that was inside of him. He wanted Meg to know exactly how he felt about her. He wanted her to know the love that resided within him. The love that he had for her.

Her left hand was entwined in his hair, pulling Greg's mouth tighter against her own, while her right was pinned behind her back. Their tongues battled in an erotic duel, one that would not end swiftly.

It felt so right. The way that they kissed, the way that Meg's leg had hooked itself around Greg's knees and pulled him close, the way that her hand was running through his hair. It felt so perfect. Like it was _supposed _to be like this.

His chest burned and his lungs begged for air, but Greg could not bring himself to pull away. He wanted more; more of Meg, more of their closeness. More. And he felt like he would never get enough of it, whatever ITwas.

Meg's hand slid to his chest, pushing him gently away. Their lips pulled apart reluctantly. He looked at Meg, her lips parted as she panted for breath. God she looked so sexy right then. It was all Greg could do not to recapture her lips.

"You're so beautiful." He breathed, gently running a finger down her cheek. Greg thought that he saw a flicker of pain and sadness pass over Meg's eyes. But as soon as he saw it, the look was gone; replaced by lust and passion.

Meg pushed Greg towards the living room, her eyes filled with a feral lust. Greg could feel his heart pounding against his ribs. Was this going where he thought it was going? God did he hope so.

He fell onto the couch, Meg landing atop him; her body pressing against his in all the right places. His eyes were glued to hers, and he noticed something. Something very different from the Meg he knew. It was as if her eyes- despite the way passion there- had hardened. This wasn't the Meg that he had been looking at only moments before. This was not the same Meg that had fell, crying, into his arms. Something inside her had changed; as if she had become a completely different person.

"Meg-"

"Shh." She placed a finger over his lips, silencing him. Her breath tickled his ear as she leaned down and gently bit at his earlobe.

"Don't talk," she whispered, her lips brushing his ear. Hot desire surged through Greg. He was kinda starting to like this new Meg.

She kissed him, biting his lower lip gently and driving Greg insane with want. His hands rested on her hips, moving up under her shirt to rest on her heated skin. She took both his hands in her left hand, her slim fingers wrapping around his wrists. Slowly, she moved his arms so that she now held them above his head. Greg wanted to touch her again, but Meg was stronger than she looked, and she kept his hands trapped on the arm of the couch. Her lips moved from his and traveled down his neck, sucking gently on his Adam's apple before moving to the open collar of his shirt and kissing the skin revealed there. Greg's pulse raced. He wanted more. No. He _needed _more.

* * *

There. She had him right where she wanted him.

Meg could feel Greg's arousal beneath her. He wanted her, badly. But he couldn't have her. Before long he would be dead and nothing but a distant memory to Meg.

She gripped the ice tightly behind her back. It begged to be freed, to do its damage. It screamed for the blood of the man beneath her. _Soon_, she promised it. _Soon you can have what you want. But first, I must have what _I_ want_.

Meg released Greg's wrists and slowly unbuttoned his shirt, her kisses following the path of skin as his shirt fell open. His skin was smooth beneath her lips, and his muscles rippled under her touch. An evil smirk passed over her lips.

Yes, she had him right where she wanted him. Soon, very soon, it would be time.

_What am I doing?_ The thought sprang into her mind, causing Meg to hesitate. _This isn't me. I'm not evil!_

_Yes you are!_ Screamed her inner demon. _You are no longer Meg: sweet and innocent girl-next-door. You are Meg: the woman who will not hesitate to kill._

"Meg?" Greg's worried tone and questioning gaze broke through her conflicted thoughts.

She smiled, hoping to appease him.

"I'm fine." She assured him. Though she knew she was far from it.

* * *

The squad cars screeched to a halt in front of Meg's apartment building.

"We go in quietly." Brass ordered. "I don't want her tipped off to our presence. Grissom, I'll call you in-" Brass didn't finish his statement. He didn't have to. Both he and Grissom knew what he meant. Brass would call him in only if there was a crime scene. Only if Greg had been killed.

* * *

Meg knew that the time had come. This was it. The moment was right now. Greg's defenses were down and there was no going back.

Her fingers tightened around the dagger. Her pulse pounded in her ears like a roaring ocean. Pure adrenaline flooded her veins. Though she denied she was evil, Meg could never stop that flow of adrenaline; that unadulterated rush that always came before the kill.

She pulled back so that she could look him in the face. That was one of the rules; she had to look them in the eyes as she killed them.

But as she looked at Greg, guilt seeped in. and a sorrow so strong it was all she could do not to break down in tears.

Greg's eyes bored into hers. He knew there was something wrong. Meg didn't bother to bring up her emotionless mask. She wanted him to know the truth.

"I'm so sorry, Greg." She whispered as she drew her right arm from behind her back and lifted the weapon over her head. Greg's eyes widened. Fear and surprise and hurt all fought for dominance within his gaze. Meg bit her lip. This was it. She was about to kill the man that she loved. Her hand trembled as she held the dagger above her, readying for the plunge. She could already see where his skin would be torn and the blood would pour out. She could see it as clearly as if the deed was already done.

_Do it_, she ordered herself.

Meg allowed one solitary tear to slid down her cheek before she brought her hand down.

* * *

Dun dun dun. Ooh, what's gonna happen to poor Greg-o? Don't you all just hate it when I write cliffhangers? Lol. Anyways, please review and tell me what you thought. The more reviews I get, the faster the update. 


	11. Questions

I want to thank those of you who reviewed last chapter: _Senorita Stokes_, _grullo-cowgirl_, and _Queen of Cliffies_. Thank you all so much. Now, on with the next chapter.

Chapter Eleven

It seemed as if time had slowed as Meg's fist, and the deadly icicle, lowered. She could see it all happening, yet she felt strangely detached from the scene. As if she were merely a spectator, a witness to the crime.

The icicle drew closer and closer to Greg's heart. Meg's hand was shaking violently and she wasn't certain she'd be able to stab directly into his heart.

Thankfully, she didn't have to worry about that.

Just as the tip of the dagger touched Greg's bare skin, the apartment door crashed open.

"Freeze!" The harsh command broke through the terrified silence.

"Oh thank God." Meg breathed as her fingers finally released the cold weapon, letting it fall, harmlessly, onto Greg's chest. "Thank God."

>>>>>

Greg could only stare as a policeman pulled Meg off him and handcuffed her before leading her out of the apartment. He remained fixed on the couch, unable to move as his thoughts caught up with what he was seeing.

Everything had been going so wonderfully. He and Meg were just about to…well, you know, when she suddenly pulled out that…whatever it was. Greg's mind still could not process what he had seen in her hand, nor could he comprehend the fact that she had been about to kill him.

"Greg, are you alright?" Brass shook him, bringing Greg's furiously churning mind back to the apartment.

"Yeah," he replied, slightly dazed, "I'm fine. What…what just happened?"

"I believe I can answer that question." Greg's eyes flew to Grissom's face. His expression was blank, but his eyes held a spark of relief.

"Come with me, Greg." He said, helping the younger man off the couch, "I'll explain everything."

>>>>>

The phone rang, startling the four CSIs. They exchanged glances, silently asking who would answer the call.

Taking in a deep breath, Catherine reached for the phone.

"Hello?" She said, her eyes scanning those of her co-workers. A mixture of hope and fear filled each pair of eyes.

"Yes," she said. "Okay…alright…bye."

"Well?" Warrick asked slowly.

"He's okay." Catherine smiled weakly, her eyes blurring with tears. "Greg is fine."

Warrick's strong arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace, and Catherine cried out all the anxiety and fear that had been crowding her emotions.

>>>>>

"She was going to kill me? But why?"

Leaning against Grissom's car outside of Meg's apartment building, Greg felt as if he would never understand what it was that the older man was telling him.

Meg, a killer? No, that couldn't be possible. She was so sweet, so kind. And Greg loved her. She couldn't possibly be a killer.

"That's what we're hoping to find out." Grissom replied calmly. Greg stared at him. Sometimes he wished that Grissom would show even the slightest emotion. This blank mask of his was starting to grate on Greg's last nerve.

"No," Greg shook his head, "I don't believe you."

"Greg, did you not see that she was holding a weapon? Did you not see what she was going to do?" Grissom cried. Finally, some emotion.

"I just…" Greg hung his head. He couldn't take this anymore. He couldn't handle it. "I just don't know what to think." He whispered as, finally, the events all caught up to him. Tears burned at the backs of his eyes and, slowly, one by one he let them fall down his cheeks and onto the hot pavement.

He felt a hand settle on his shoulder and squeeze tightly. This was obviously the most comfort that he would get from Grissom, but, strangely, it was enough.

>>>>>

_It should be over by now_. He looked down at his watch for the hundredth time that night. _The call will come in any time now._

His cell phone sat on the table in front of him, ready. But it never rang. He wasn't worried though, at least not too much. She didn't always call him when the job was done. Sometimes she needed sometime to herself before she called. Or, sometimes, she didn't call at all, but waited for him to come to her to inform him that the job was finished. But no matter how she did it, he was always anxious to hear the news. He would sit on the edge of his seat until he heard from her, wondering if she'd had the balls to go through with it.

That was part of the game: giving her the signal. He always wanted to make sure that she was close to the victim before killing them. It wouldn't have been any fun if she'd just killed them like any other assassin: a simple gunshot to the head without ever looking into their eyes or talking to them, without ever becoming their friend. No, it was much more fun doing it his way.

>>>>>

Meg sat in her cell at the police station, awaiting which ever police officer it was that would escort her to the interrogation room where the CSIs that she had worked so closely with would act as if they had never met her in their lives. They would treat her like any other criminal they came across. They would treat this case as if it were like any other case they'd worked on. There would be no emotions to get in the way of their job, because they would simply wipe the Meg they knew from their memories. And they would replace that Meg with a woman that they had never seen before, that they had never talked with, that they had never befriended.

Tears streamed down her face as she waited. She knew it was weak, but she couldn't help it. Meg couldn't help the deep, bitter sadness that overtook her as she sat in that cell surrounded by other criminals. She bit her lip, trying to keep back the tears that still threatened to fall. She couldn't allow herself to fall apart. No, she needed to keep her wits about her in order to survive in the interrogation room. She needed to be sharp and to keep her mind in the game. For that's all this was. A game. And nothing more. At least that's what she kept telling herself.

_It's just a game._

The words had become her mantra since the second the cell door slammed shut behind her. But Meg knew that it was so much more than that. It was payback.

An officer appeared at the door to her cell and unlocked the door. He looked down at her, his eyes barely looking at her. She was just like any other lowlife to him. She was invisible and dispensable to this man. Just another piece of scum that would no longer litter the streets of his fine city.

Meg stood and allowed him to handcuff her. The metal bit into her skin, but she didn't so much as wince. She was stronger than that. She had endured so much more than a little pinching in her wrist. Meg knew that she couldn't show any weakness. She could only show strength and defiance.

He led her into an interrogation room. Grissom and Catherine were already in there. Meg had hoped that it would only be Brass. Because she could keep her façade around him. She didn't know Brass well enough to feel guilty about hiding the truth. But Grissom and Catherine reminded her of something that she'd buried in her past. They reminded her of why she'd first joined the FBI. They made the guilt grow to twice its size. And Meg knew that soon her entire story would come pouring out to them. The question was, could she remember what the truth even was.

>>>>>

Alrighty folks, so we know that Greg is alright. But now the truth is about to come out. Do y'all think you can handle it? Lol. Please review and tell me what you thought. The more reviews, the quicker the next chapter comes out and the quicker y'all learn why Meg has been killing all these people.


	12. Delving Deeper

I want to thank all y'all who reviewed the last chapter. I don't have time to post your names, but just know that I am grateful.

Chapter Twelve

"It's weird," Meg said, staring at her hands that lay folded on top of the metal table, "you spend your whole life taking care of other people and you completely forget what it's like to have only yourself to care about. And the funny thing is, you don't really care about yourself anymore."

She'd been in the interrogation room two minutes before she started talking. Before anybody had started talking. Meg was certain that Grissom and Catherine didn't know where to start. They were probably still trying to get over the shock of who she _really _was to ask any questions right away. So, after minutes in silence, Meg had decided to speak. She didn't know what would come out of her mouth. She only knew that she had to say something.

She ran a hand through her hair. A weary, world-on-the-shoulders sigh escaped her lips.

"When Mom died, it was my job to take care of my sisters. I was ten years old and I had to take care of _six _little girls. And Dad, well he was no help. The call came and Dad just totally checked out.

"I didn't have time to mourn; I couldn't' even cry at night because I had to comfort my sisters when they cried. And all Dad could do was lock himself away in his office. He couldn't even look any of us in the eye for…he _still _can't look any of us in the eye."

Tears blurred Meg's vision as she ducked her head, her dirty blonde hair forming a veil around her face. Her shoulders shook with repressed sobs. She wasn't trying to get their sympathy, that wasn't the idea at all. Meg just couldn't help the flood of emotions that had suddenly welled up inside of her. For too long she had been the strong one. Now, all she wanted was to be the weak one. The one who someone else comforted.

But she wouldn't find any comfort here. No. She would only find the stony faces of those who had thought they knew her.

"I knew that if I didn't take care of my sisters that no one else would." She continued after she'd calmed slightly. "It was my job. I was the oldest and the burden fell on me. I did my best. I really did. But I always felt as if it wasn't good enough. Someone always needed me to help them with something. Someone always needed her clothes washed, help on her homework. I nearly flunked out of school because I was so busy doing things around the house."

She raised her eyes to meet those of the two CSIs.

"I didn't mean for things to turn out the way that they did." She said. "I didn't want it to come to this." She shook her head sadly. "Things just got out of hand."

"Meg," Catherine leaned forward, a semblance of her old self, the self that had befriended Meg, in her eyes, "we need you to tell us why you tried to kill Greg. And why you killed those other people."

"The game." She answered simply. "It was all part of the game."

> > > > >

A game? That's all that he was to her: a frickin' game? And what the hell did that mean anyways?

Greg stood on the other side of the two-way mirror, watching the proceedings in the interrogation room. She had looked so helpless before, but now, as she stared at Catherine, Meg's eyes were empty. It was as if her soul had been snuffed out like a flame, and now she was nothing more than an empty shell. And that frightened Greg to no end.

"What game?" Grissom asked. Meg turned her soulless eyes on him.

"His game." She replied, even her voice had lost any spark of life.

Greg's hands balled into fists at his sides; he was swiftly losing patience with her cryptic answers. He wanted to know why the hell she'd tried to kill him and damn it he wanted to know now! It took all his will power to remain where he was standing and not barge into that room and demand answers. His jaw was clenched tightly and his teeth ground together, giving him an insufferable headache. But Greg remained where he stood, fighting to keep control.

"Who's game, Meg?" Grissom leaned forward slightly in his seat. Meg shook her head.

"I can't tell you. He'll kill me." It was said simply, not a trace of emotion- not even fear- within her voice.

Greg's fury turned to worry. What had happened to Meg to make her like this? Where had the woman that he'd fallen in love with go? Because this _certainly _wasn't the Meg Sawyer that Greg knew.

"Then can you at least tell us what this game is?" Catherine asked, taking a shot at the questioning.

Meg closed her eyes. Greg could see that she was fighting against something. But what?

Finally, her eyes opened and Greg was relieved to see that Meg had returned.

"It's…" she shook her head, "I don't know how to explain it."

"Try." Catherine gently ordered. Meg drew in a deep breath, her eyes searching the corners of the room as if the answers were hidden in the shadows there.

"It's more like…a test. He tries to break me or something…I don't know." She hung her head, her voice choked with tears. Greg found himself fighting another urge to rush into the room, but this time to hold and comfort Meg.

It was amazing the way that love played with you. One moment he was denying that Meg tried to kill him. The next _he _wanted to kill _her_. And after that, he just wanted to hold her in his arms and assure her that everything was alright. But he couldn't. He was no longer a part of this case. He wasn't even supposed to be watching the interrogation.

Meg's head came back up, and, for a brief moment, Greg was certain that she was looking directly at him. But just as suddenly, her eyes returned to look at Catherine and Grissom.

"Meg?" Catherine reached out a hand to touch the young woman, but quickly drew back before any contact was made.

"I'm alright." Meg assured her, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I'm okay." She ran a hand through her hair before continuing.

"I think, for you to understand, that I should start at the beginning." She paused. Greg waited with baited breath for her to continue. Seconds passed before she finally drew in a breath, a resigned look crossing her face.

"I was recruited for the FBI a few days before my college graduation." Meg started. "I wasn't sure if I really wanted to follow in the tradition of my family, but I knew that it would break my father's heart if I didn't. So I accepted my spot in the program. The training program was easy to get through. My father had been getting me ready for it basically since I was born. I knew what to expect.

"Once I graduated training I was assigned to the Nevada branch. And, I was paired with another agent: Jeremy Moore.

"A couple of years went by and I was doing well. I did a good job and eventually was promoted. With the promotion came a new partner: Agent Wilkins. We got a long for the most part. He had known my father back when Dad still worked as a field agent. After my mother's death, Dad decided that it would be best if he took a desk job. He didn't want us girls to lose two parents. Anyway, though Wilkins was a friend of my father's, I didn't care for him much. He was arrogant and too self-assured. Both dangerous traits in our line of work. He also insisted on harassing me. It wasn't enough for me to form a complaint against him, but it was enough to drive me crazy.

"Things were fine for awhile. Wilkins could deal with me constantly turning him down for dates. But, one day, I don't know, everything changed."

Meg's story halted as she stared out into space, her eyes seeing things that no one else could. Greg felt his insides twist. The story was about to take a bad turn, he could feel it in his gut.

Her fingers tapped against the tabletop, beating out a steady rhythm. Beneath the table, her leg bounced up and down nervously.

"I've told you too much." Meg said, biting her bottom lip. "I…I can't tell you anything else."

"Meg-"

"I'm sorry." She shook her head, fresh tears pouring down her cheeks. "I'm so sorry."

>>>>>

She'd said too much. If he ever found out…Meg didn't even want to think of what he would do. She brushed away her tears, tired of breaking down in front of them when she should have been strong. This was not like her. She was not weak.

_Yes I am_, she thought, _he's made me weak._

She drew in a shaky breath and exhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves.

"It's weird being on this side of the table." She said softly, more to herself than to the two others in the room with her. Absentmindedly, she traced circles in the cool metal. "I've always wondered what it felt like to be on this side. But I never thought that I would have to learn what it was like."

"Meg." Grissom's no-nonsense voice caught Meg's attention. She looked at him through lowered lids. There was no way that she could look him full in the eye, especially after all that she had done.

"Please focus." He ordered. "Tell us the rest of what happened."

Meg shook her head.

"I can't. I can't tell you. I'm sorry."

"Meg, if someone hired you, you need to tell us who it was. Otherwise you're going to be charged with the murders." Grissom's words did nothing to sway her. Meg would rather face life in prison than to deal with what he would do if he found out she'd told on him. No. The truth was best kept hidden. No one else needed to get hurt.

She shook her head again, biting her lip.

_I won't tell. I won't tell. I won't tell._ The words ran through her mind over and over again until they were nothing more than a dull hum.

She heard Catherine sigh. A glimmer of hope lit within Meg. They weren't going to force her to tell. Good.

Chancing a glance at the two CSIs, Meg studied them. They looked, for lack of a better word, defeated. They wanted to know what Meg wasn't telling them. But there was no way that they could force the information from her. And they knew it.

Grissom signaled to someone behind the mirror. It wasn't until then that Meg wondered who stood on the other side. Who was listening to their conversation? She prayed that Greg was miles from the police station. She didn't want him to see her like this. She didn't want him to see her at all. Or rather, she didn't want to see him. Because Meg knew that if she saw him, she would surely crack. He had been the only one to ever break through the defenses that she'd built around her heart. And she knew that she wouldn't be able to keep the truth from him, now that she had revealed herself for who she truly was. She would break under the pressure the second she saw his beautiful face. Meg knew that she would tell him because she wouldn't want him to think that she'd wanted to kill him. She would want to throw the blame on someone else so that he would no longer hate her. For surely he hated her now.

> > > > >

Catherine turned to Grissom after the police officer led Meg from the room.

"Well," she sighed, "where do we go from here?"

Thoughtfully, Grissom rubbed his chin, his eyes distant.

"We go back to the beginning." He replied.

> > > > >

Well, what did y'all think? This chapter was a bit longer than the others, so I hope that was good. Um…I think that this story is going to be ending soon. I'm guessing that there will probably be like two or three more chapters, but I'm not exactly sure. Anyways, please review and tell me what you thought 'cause I always love to hear the opinions of my readers. Thanks.


	13. Reality Bites

I want to thank those of you who reviewed last chapter. I really appreciate it.

Chapter Thirteen

Meg lay in her cell, staring up at the cracks that spider-webbed across the ceiling. She traced patterns within the cracks, searching for shapes much like she'd done when she was a child and was looking at the clouds in the sky. But no matter how occupied she tried to keep her mind, Meg could not help but think of how she was going to get out of this. It wasn't only her own life that was affected by The Game, but the life of someone that she loved very much. And she wasn't about to let the CSIs allow that person to get hurt by their investigation.

> > > > > 

He stared at his watch. Something was wrong now. Meg hadn't called him, she hadn't sought him out. And it had already been five hours. He was certain that the signal had come that night, but maybe he was wrong.

Yes, that was all it was. He had simply miscalculated. The target hadn't confessed his love yet. That was all.

He looked back down at his watch.

Yes. A simple miscalculation.

> > > > > 

The apartment was silent, too silent. Greg turned on his stereo and TV, both at nearly maximum volume. He couldn't take the silence. It was like being in a horror film, waiting for the killer to strike.

Greg shook his head. Best not to think of horror films and killers at that moment. No, better to keep his head clear of all thought and simply listen to the stereo and TV battle it out.

He fell back onto the couch and stared up at the ceiling. The white paint was glowing blue in the darkness, lit only by the light of the television. He hadn't bothered to turn on any lights when he got home. What was the point? It wasn't like there would be anything new to see in his apartment. Everything was the same. Boring and the same.

Unbidden, thoughts of Meg filled his brain. He tried desperately to keep them at bay, but he couldn't. The urge to think about her was too strong. Greg hoped that she was fairing well. He wouldn't be able to live with himself if she was doing poorly. He didn't care anymore if she'd tried to kill him. He loved her, and he only wanted her to be safe.

He ran a hand through his hair. Things were so screwed up. None of this should have happened. He and Meg should have lived happily ever after. She shouldn't have wanted to kill him, she shouldn't have been a murder. But, unlike in stories, real life was no fairy tale. It didn't have happy endings. At least none that Greg knew about. No, real life had no room for happy endings. No room at all. God, did reality bite or what?

> > > > > 

They sat around the conference table in agitated silence. No one spoke. They were all afraid to, afraid that they would spark someone's anger. So silence reigned over the room until Grissom finally entered.

"I thought I told you all to start without me." He said, looking around the table at his team. Nick and Warrick shook their heads, their gazes moving to the two females who sat in stony silence.

"Catherine, Sara, what's going on?" Grissom asked.

The two women looked at him, clearly avoiding each other.

"Nothing." Catherine said in a tone that clearly stated she didn't want to get into right then.

"No, it's not nothing." Sara snapped, her eyes blazing, but never once looking at Catherine. "I knew from the beginning that Meg was trouble. But none of them would listen to me." Her eyes moved over the men, but still stayed clear of Catherine.

"Oh would you drop it, Sara!" Catherine cried. "What do you want us to do, throw you a parade?" She glared at the younger woman. "You knew that something was wrong. We all know that. God, you haven't let us forget. But it's over with now. Can't we just move on and find out why she did what she did?"

Sara's jaw clenched and her mouth was set in a tight line. She crossed her arms over her chest and stared at the wall in brooding silence.

Grissom glanced between the two, waiting for a few moments before speaking again.

"Now that that's out of the way, can we concentrate on the case?" He waited for someone to object. No one did.

"Good. Now then, let's get started."

> > > > > 

Catherine showed her badge to the officer at the front desk. He nodded and allowed her in to the holding area of the station. She moved through the doorway and walked down the line of cells until she reached the one Meg sat in.

The young woman lay on the hard bench, her gaze fixed on the stark white ceiling above her.

"Meg?"

She did not look at Catherine, nor did she acknowledge the other woman's presence.

"We need to talk, Meg." Catherine said in an attempt to get the girl to look at her.

"I have nothing to say." Meg's voice was frail, as if she had been crying.

"We need more information." Catherine said. She wasn't sure how to reach Meg, to make her understand that she could change the entire outcome of this case if she would just talk.

"I'm sorry," and she truly sounded it, "but I can't help you anymore."

"Why not?"

The silence stood between them like a stone wall.

"He'll kill her if I tell you." Meg's voice was stoic, resigned.

"Who? Who will he kill?" Catherine saw a glimmer of hope. Now if only she could grasp it.

Meg sat up and faced the older woman. Catherine was struck by the blood-shot, red rimmed eyes that stared at her. What kind of hell was this poor girl going through?

> > > > > 

"She was murdered, you know. My mom. She never did a thing to hurt anybody. And she was murdered." Meg fought back the tears that choked her. But it was a fight she could not win. The tears streamed down her face in twin waterfalls of sorrow.

"Why would someone want to kill her?" Meg sobbed. "She wouldn't hurt a fly."

Catherine reached through the bars, a tissue in her hand. Meg stood and gratefully accepted the tissue. She wiped her eyes forcefully, as if she could wipe away all the grief that engulfed her.

"I've always wondered," she continued after composing herself, "who it was, and why they did it."

She ran a hand through her tangled hair, her fingers catching on a few snarls.

"Look at me," she sniffed, shaking her head, "Wondering why someone would kill an innocent woman when I've been doing the same thing. God, I'm such a hypocrite."

She looked at Catherine, who had a sympathetic look in her eyes. Her look only caused the tears to come harder and faster.

"You all much hate me now." Meg cried. "I don't blame you. I hate myself."

"You can make this better, Meg." Catherine said gently, "Just tell us who it is that made you do this."

Meg bit her lip. If only she _could _tell them.

As if she could sense Meg's trouble, Catherine reached out and touched the young woman's shoulder gently.

"I wish I could tell you." Meg said, her eyes on her shoes. "But I can't risk Amy's life."

"Who's Amy?" Catherine asked.

"My sister. She's the youngest." Meg ran the tissue over her eyes, sopping up more tears.

"If I promise to bring her here, where she'll be safe, will you tell me who the man is that hired you?"

Meg stared into Catherine's eyes. Here was a way out, just what Meg had been praying for. But did she have the strength to reach out and take what was offered her? Tense moments passed before Meg responded.

"Yes." She said, nodding her head, "I'll tell you."

> > > > > 

Well folks, this story is almost over. Soon all the loose ends will be tied up and we'll know who the real villain is. Anyone have any guesses so far? I know that it's probably not too hard to figure out. But still, half the fun is in the second guessing. Lol. Anyways, I hope you liked this chapter and I hope you'll review. Until next time. Ciao.


	14. Who Done It

Hey, just want to thank all y'all who have reviewed so far. You guys are so awesome!

Chapter Fourteen

Amy Sawyer sat in the waiting room of the Las Vegas crime lab. She had no clue why she was here. A woman named Catherine had called her, telling her to come to the lab. She'd said something about Meg. But that was all that Amy could remember.

Meg. Amy hadn't seen her sister in nearly two years. They hadn't even so much as talked on the phone. Whenever Amy called Meg was usually busy and said that she would call back. But she never did. Amy missed her older sister. Really, Meg was more like a mother, having raised Amy since she was no more than a year old. And Amy loved her sister, she loved her so much. It hurt her to never be able to see Meg or talk to her. So, when Mrs. Willows had called, Amy had immediately jumped in her car and driven the four hours to Las Vegas.

She shifted in the uncomfortable plastic seat, waiting for someone to come and talk to her. She'd been there over an hour already, and she was hungry and tired and wanted to know what the hell was going on with Meg.

Standing, she paced the room, chewing her pinkie nail nervously.

"Miss Sawyer?" She whirled around, her long blonde ponytail hitting against the side of her face.

"Yes." Amy replied anxiously, taking in the man that stood before her.

He was cute. Not too tall, slightly buff, dark hair and eyes. Despite the circumstances and her nervousness, Amy found herself smiling flirtatiously at him.

"I'm Nick Stokes, I'm with the crime lab." He held out his hand to her. Amy took it. His hand was much larger than hers, and rough.

"Amy," She said, introducing herself. "It's nice to meet you Nick." He smiled pleasantly. It was a nice smile, the kind that could make a girl go weak in the knees.

"I'm sorry to keep you waiting so long," he said.

"No problem." She replied with a nonchalant shrug. "I really wasn't waiting that long." The beautiful smile on Nick's face deepened, causing dimples to appear. Amy nearly swooned. Dimples were always hot on a guy.

Suddenly she was very aware of the fact that she still wore her school uniform: A white short-sleeved blouse and green and purple plaid skirt, and she felt foolish. Here was this man who was older than her, and so much hotter than the boys at school, and she was standing in front of him in her frickin' school uniform! But, who knew, maybe he went for the whole innocent school girl look. Amy could only hope so.

"You're probably starving," he said, "come with me."

Amy followed him through a series of hallways until they reached what looked like a break room. A dark skinned man was sitting at the table inside the room, a cup of coffee in his hands and a file sitting open in front of him.

"Hey, Nicky," the man greeted her escort. He glanced at Amy, his chocolate eyes taking her in. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Amy," Nick said, "Meg's sister."

The black man's lips formed a tight line and his smile faded.

Perplexed at his sudden change of mood, Amy inched closer to Nick.

"Don't worry," Nick smiled down at her, noticing her discomfort, "Warrick doesn't bite."

Nick dug through the small fridge that sat in the room, pulling out a can of soda. He handed it to Amy and then began searching the cupboards for something to eat.

"I hope you like Pringles," he said, handing the cylinder over to Amy, "'cause that's about all we have right now. Unless you want to eat pizza that's I don't know how old."

"Pringles are fine." Amy said, growing uneasy once more. She could sense the tension that surrounded the room. It was thick and suffocating. In fact, it seemed to fill the entire crime lab.

"Um…" Amy sat down in the seat that Nick pulled out for her. "Where's Meg?" She asked, wanting now, more than ever, to see her sister. "What's going on here?"

An uncomfortable silence added its weight to the tension. The air was thick now with unspoken thoughts and emotion.

Nick sat down in the seat opposite Amy. He looked at her, his eyes taking her in. Amy no longer found his eyes handsome.

"Amy," he said slowly. She knew that tone of voice. It was the same kind her teachers used when they were about to tell her she got a bad grade. "I'm afraid that Meg is under investigation right now."

"Yeah right," Amy scoffed, not wanting to believe that her sister, Miss Meg the perfect child Sawyer, could do anything bad. "You guys have got something mixed up in those minds of yours. Meg's the _good _guy. She's an FBI agent."

"I'm sorry," Nick shook his head, his eyes clearly telling the truth, "Meg's been accused of murder, and the attempted murder of one of our own CSIs."

Amy felt as if her heart had stopped. Meg, a murderer? No, it wasn't possible. Her sister had dedicated her life to saving the less fortunate, to defending her country, to keeping it safe for those she loved. She couldn't possibly have committed murder.

"You're lying." Amy said, her voice strangled with rage. "You son of a bitch, you're lying!"

She ran out of the room, tearing down the corridors, not knowing which way she was headed.

> > > > > 

Meg sat in the cold metal chair and faced Catherine and Grissom once more. Her eyes frantically searched theirs.

"Is she here?" She asked apprehensively.

"Yes," Catherine smiled comfortingly and nodded her head. "Amy's here and she's safe. Nick's watching her right now."

Meg released the breath she hadn't known she'd been holding and a weight seemed to lift off her shoulders.

"Oh thank god." She whispered as relief flooded her.

"Now, we've held up our end of the deal, it's time you held up yours." Catherine said. "Who is the man behind this?"

Meg looked down at her hands, her fingers nervously wringing together. Sighing resignedly, she looked back up at the two CSIs that anxiously awaited her response.

"It's-"

"Meg," the door to the interrogation room slammed open and Adam Wilkins strode in, "don't say another word." He ordered her. His gaze flew to the CSIs, and he glared.

"What is the meaning of arresting Agent Sawyer?" He asked them. "And then questioning her without a lawyer present?" He was seething. Meg felt the anger radiating off him. Her body trembled violently as she looked up at him.

"Agent Sawyer declined legal council." Grissom replied, standing to face Agent Wilkins' anger. Meg's gaze flew between the two men- both very powerful in their own way. "She said that she would answer our questions truthfully and willingly."

Meg could feel Catherine's eyes on her as she continued to stare up at Adam. She could sense the questions in the woman's gaze. Had she guessed what the truth was?

"Now," Grissom continued, "if you will please leave, I have an interview to finish."

With that, an officer appeared and escorted Agent Wilkins from the room. Grissom returned to his seat and sat calmly, as if nothing at all had happened.

"Please continue, Meg." He said, inclining his head towards her in a gesture to proceed.

Meg's eyes flew nervously to the door, waiting for it to slam open once again. When it didn't her eyes moved to the mirror behind the two CSIs.

"Meg, it's alright," Catherine assured her, "nobody is listening to this conversation except us. You can tell us now."

Meg drew in a shaky breath and nodded her head.

"He said that if I told you that he would kill Amy." Her eyes locked with Catherine's. "That's why I wanted you to bring her here, to keep her safe."

"And she is safe. I promise that nothing will happen to her." Catherine swore. Meg managed a weak smile of gratitude.

"He came to me two in a half years ago. I was twenty-three then, and though I'd been with the FBI for three years, I was still so naïve. I didn't know that he was bad. I should have, but I didn't. He told me that he wanted me to do something for him and that, if I didn't, Amy was going to die. And he said if I told anyone, or if I got caught, he was going to kill her." She shook her head sadly. "So you see, I didn't really have a choice. I love Amy so much. I didn't want her to die."

"Meg," Grissom interrupted, a harsh undertone to his voice. "Just tell us who he is."

She knew she had to tell them, but it was just so hard to truly believe that Amy would be safe. But Amy was there, Catherine had said she was, and Meg had no reason to doubt Catherine.

"Adam. It's Adam Wilkins."

> > > > > 

Amy ran until her chest ached and her lungs burned. And _still _she hadn't found the exit to the outside world.

_Damn it_, her mind cried, _why didn't I pay better attention to my surroundings instead of starring at Nick?_

She leaned against the nearest wall, tears in her eyes. Meg. She wanted to see Meg. She wanted her sister. The tears fell down her cheeks slowly. One by one falling onto the floor as her emotions became overwhelmed.

There was no way in hell that Meg was a murderer, no matter what they said. Amy wouldn't believe it. Meg was sweet and kind. She would do anything for Amy and for their sisters. Meg had basically raised them all after their mother's death. There was not a damn chance that Meg was a killer.

"Hey, are you alright?" Amy lifted her gaze. She nodded at the man.

"Yeah," she said, a sarcastic bite to her words, "I'm fine."

> > > > > 

_Insert suspenseful music here_. Ooh, another cliffhanger, and what a good one. I bet y'all can't wait for the next chapter. Well you're gonna have to. I'm not gonna be home this weekend so I won't be able to write. But I promise that as soon as I get home I'll begin writing the next chapter. In the meantime, please review so that I'll have many lovely reviews to come home to that will prompt me to hurry with the next chapter. Lol. Until the next chapter. Adieu.


	15. Excellent Deduction Sherlock

Hey y'all, sorry it took so long to update. You know how writer's block is. Lol. Anyways, I've updated now and I hope you guys like it.

A special thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter. I really appreciate it.

Chapter Fifteen

"You sure, 'cause you don't look fine." Greg looked down at the young girl that stood before him. She looked so familiar, and yet he couldn't place where he'd seen her before.

"Nice deduction, Sherlock." She snapped. "Now if you don't mind, I kinda want to be alone."

It donned on him then who the girl was.

"You're Amy, aren't you?" He asked. The girls eyes flew to his, suspicion within her gaze.

"Yeah," she replied. "And who are you?"

"Greg. I'm Meg's-" What was he gonna say? Boyfriend? He didn't even know if Meg had even liked him when he'd first asked her out. She had probably only dated him because he'd been her target, her next victim. But still, was he her boyfriend? Greg was so confused.

"You're Meg's what…_boyfriend_?" Amy asked, her tone full of sarcasm. When Greg didn't reply, however, Amy's jaw dropped.

"You gotta be kiddin' me." She said. "Meg doesn't have boyfriends. She never has. I swear, the girl could be a nun."

"A nun? You obviously don't know your sister." Greg said, shaking his head, a slow smile creeping up his face as he remembered the last moments that he and Meg had spent together. The smile quickly faded, however, when he remembered why they hadn't gone further.

"I know my sister very well, thank you very much." Amy retorted, crossing her arms in front of her. "And the Virgin Meg has never had a date in her life."

"Whatever." Greg shook his head. He didn't know how he had expected Meg's youngest sister to be like, but this snotty, prep school bitch obviously hadn't been it. With the way that Meg had always gone on about her baby sister, Greg had almost imagined her to be a replica of Meg. But Amy was as far from Meg as anyone could get. Still, he couldn't help but admire her tough-as-nails, screw-the-world attitude. Sometimes, Greg wished that he could be more like that, instead of the sometimes too sensitive guy that he was.

Before he had bumped into Amy, Greg had been on his way home. There obviously wasn't anything he could do around the lab, and there was no way in hell that anyone was going to let him see Meg- if he even wanted to see her, which he still hadn't made up his mind about that. Now that he had ended the conversation with the ever intelligent comeback of "whatever" Greg turned to leave.

"Hey," Amy's voice caused him to turn back to face her. Her eyes held a sorrowful curiosity that nearly broke Greg's heart.

"Is it true what they're saying," she said, "about Meg?"

Greg attempted a sympathetic smile, but he wasn't too sure that it looked any better than a grimace.

"Yeah," he said, truly sorry that he had to confirm the horrible news to this young girl. "Yeah, it's true."

Amy's face fell, the bitchy mask slipping to reveal a heartbroken girl.

"I don't believe it," she whispered, tears materializing in her eyes. "I just can't believe it." She looked up at Greg, as if hoping that he would have the answers. But, no matter how much he wished that he did, Greg couldn't give her the answers she needed or wanted. He didn't even have the answers to his own questions.

Greg wrapped his arms around Amy in what he hoped was a comforting hug.

"I know it's hard to believe, I almost don't believe it myself." He said. "But I was there, and I know it's true, no matter how hard it is to understand."

Amy stood, wrapped in his arms, her face buried in the crook of his neck, crying. Greg simply stood there, not knowing what else to do. It wasn't every day that he had a crying girl in his arms.

"I'm sorry." He whispered, hoping to give her some sort of comfort, "I am so sorry."

> > > > >

Adam Wilkins. The name hung in the air, hovering like a swarm of bees ready to strike. Time seemed to stop altogether as Grissom and Catherine absorbed the truth. Then, as if somebody suddenly pressed play on the remote, the two sprang into action.

Grissom jumped from his chair and rushed to the door of the interrogation room.

"Shut off all exits," he said to the guard standing outside of the door, "don't let anybody in or out. And find Agent Wilkins and detain him."

Meg sat, frozen to her chair as she watched the two CSIs move at rapid speed as they hurried to alert everyone that a killer was loose within the lab. Brass arrived in the room, out of breath from running from his office, and he and Grissom and Catherine talked quickly in hushed voices before he sprinted off again.

Grissom left the room to do God knows what, but Catherine remained behind, shutting the door behind her boss and locking it.

"Don't worry," Catherine said as she returned to her seat opposite Meg, "we'll catch him. There's no way that he can get out of here."

Meg nodded, wanting to believe Catherine but seriously doubting. Suddenly, her eyes widened as she remembered.

"Amy." She breathed, her heart pounding a mile a minute within her chest. "Where's Amy? If he knows she's here, he'll get her."

"Don't worry," Catherine placed her hand over Meg's, "she's safe with Nick. He won't let her out of his sight. I promise."

But Meg's nerves would not be calmed. Her pulse raced and her breathing was harsh as her mind pictured the different scenarios in which Adam could get his hands on Amy. Meg's leg bounced with nervous energy and she was soon pacing the room, biting her fingernails until they were beginning to bleed. Catherine didn't try to consol or calm her. She knew that Meg needed to do this, that she needed to move and worry, and that no amount of words would placate her, but only serve to annoy her further.

And so, Meg paced for what seemed like hours. Her steps covering every inch of the room nearly a hundred times. Time was moving at a snail's pace; crawling along as if nothing was happening.

> > > > >

Amy looked up from her seat in the waiting room as a handful of uniformed guards ran down the hallway. She rubbed her nose, which was red from crying, and stared after the guards.

"I wonder what's going on." She said quietly.

Greg handed her a cup of coffee and shook his head. "I have no clue. Want me to find out?"

Amy shook her head. She didn't want to be alone right now.

"No," she said, "it doesn't really matter." She sipped the coffee quietly, stewing in her thoughts.

"So," she said at length, "you and Meg."

"Yeah, me and Meg." Greg nodded his head sadly.

"You really love her, don't you?"

"Yes, I do." Greg replied with a sad smile.

"And she tried to kill you." It wasn't a question. Amy believed what Greg had said. She didn't know why. She only knew that she trusted him.

He simply nodded his head.

"That's too bad." Amy sighed. "Meg really could have used a boyfriend."

Despite himself, despite the hurt of betrayal and a broken heart, Greg heard himself laugh.

> > > > >

Adam sat in the interrogation room, staring down the CSIs that were questioning him.

The guards had caught him just as he was about to leave. He hadn't put up a fight, knowing that if he had it would only show his guilt. And why should he use brawn when he had brains? Easily he could out maneuver these pesky CSIs. They were no match for him. Their brains were no match for his.

"Would you like us to wait for your lawyer, Mr. Wilkins?" Gil Grissom asked.

"A lawyer is unnecessary." Adam shook his head, trying to remain his usual suave self. But it was difficult. A fiery rage burned within his soul. Meg had sold him out, despite his threats against her sister. Well, if she thought she could get away with that, she was sorely mistaken. As soon as he was free of this place, Adam would find Amy, and he would kill her. Then Meg would know that he meant business.

"Very well." Grissom replied.

"Mr. Wilkins," Catherine Willows said as she shifted in her seat, "Meg has named you as the man behind all these killings. Do you have anything to say for yourself?"

"No, I do not. Obviously Meg does not want to own up to the fact that she has murdered innocent people and is looking for a way out." Adam shook his head. "It's quite sad."

He studied the CSIs as he spoke, reading their facial expressions and their movements, searching for any sign that they believed him over Meg. But there were no signs. The two remained impassive and unreadable. It didn't matter, though. He would make them believe him. And, as soon as they released him from custody, he would make Meg pay for her betrayal.

> > > > >

So, what did y'all think? Was it worth the wait? Please review and tell me what you thought.


	16. To Catch a Killer

Hey y'all. Sorry it took so long for this chapter to come out. But it's out now and awaiting your inspection. Lol. I'd like to say thanks to those of you who reviewed last chapter: **Queen of Cliffies**, **StoryDreamer**, **El Gringo Loco**, and **kjiyou**. You all are awesome.

Chapter Sixteen

Meg sat in her cell, once again staring up at the cracks that lined the ceiling.

They were interrogating him right now. Catherine had come to Meg's cell to inform her that Adam had been caught. But those words did not ease the tension that filled her. She knew Adam too well. He would weasel his way out of this, he would make them think that Meg was lying, that she had concocted this story to free her own self of guilt. He would go free, and then, he would kill Amy.

> > > > > 

He was quickly growing tired of this endless questioning. It was all repetitive, and mindless. Not to mention, totally useless. If they wanted him to confess to forcing Meg into killing those people they would have to try a lot harder, because there was no way that Adam was going to crack.

Adam couldn't help the smirk that played at the corners of his mouth. It was all just so useless. They would never get him to own-up to the fact that he had indeed been behind those murders. Besides, they had no proof. _Meg_ had no proof. It was his word against hers. And who were people more likely to believe? Why, him, the senior ranking FBI agent, of course. So all of this was pointless. Even if they did, somehow manage to find grounds to arrest him, they would never have enough evidence, or any evidence at all to convict him.

His smirk threatened to grow, but Adam kept it back. It was all just so hilarious. Soon he would be free and Meg would either be dead or surviving life in prison.

> > > > > 

Meg stared at the bars that kept her prisoner. So often she had wondered what went through the minds of those that she had imprisoned, and now their thoughts were her own. How ironic.

The door to the holding area opened once more and, again, Catherine entered. It had only been a few hours since her last visit, but, to Meg, it felt as if an eternity had passed. Human contact seemed like a figment of her imagination; life outside of these bars an illusion. Not even a day had passed and already Meg was craving a glimpse of the outside world, she wanted nothing more than to breathe fresh air once more. But, for now, she was trapped within the bars, awaiting her fate. And one look at Catherine's face told Meg that her fate was looking darker by the second.

"He's not talking, is he?" Meg asked as Catherine came to a stop in front of her cell. Catherine merely shook her head, the look in her eyes conveying the failure that she was feeling inside.

Meg sighed. It wasn't just her life that hung in the balance here. The life of her sister was also hanging right there next to Meg's.

A grim determination to settle this once and for all filled Meg. She looked up at Catherine, a stubborn look in her eyes and a determined set to her chin.

"Let me talk to him." She said.

"No." Catherine said with a shake of her head. "Meg, I can't let you do that."

'It's the only way." Meg stated simply. She would not be deterred. "If I know Adam, if he thinks that we're alone than he won't be able to keep himself from gloating. Give me a tape recorder and I can record every word he says. You'll have all the evidence you need to put him away."

Catherine couldn't help but be impressed at Meg's reasoning. The plan was a good one. Running a weary hand through her hair, Catherine sighed.

"All right." She relented. "But only if Grissom agrees to the plan."

Meg nodded.

"Deal."

> > > > > 

Amy tried to concentrate on the magazine she held, but her mind- and her eyes- kept wandering. As discreetly as she could, Amy glanced over at Greg. He seemed just as agitated as she. Over and over again he paced the floor of the waiting room, the soles of his shoes squeaking against the tiled floor with each step that he took. At first she had found his pacing cute and endearing, but now it simply annoyed the hell out of her.

Snapping her magazine closed, Amy sighed heavily. Greg didn't even notice her distress, instead, he kept pacing. Amy sighed louder, trying to draw his attention from pacing. Aggravated beyond belief, Amy frowned, growling low in her throat.

"Greg!" She cried when she finally figured out that he wouldn't be dissuaded from his pacing. His head snapped around, his eyes searching the hall behind Amy.

"Greg, I'm over here." Amy waved her hand, irritated that Greg seemed to be looking straight through her.

"What? Oh. Sorry." He said, a sad smile pulling at the corners of his lips.

"It's all right." Amy sighed. "I'm just a little on edge right now. I've been here for five hours and nobody's let me see Meg or given me any information about how much longer it will be until I can see her."

Greg ran a hand through his already tousseled hair.

"If you want, I can go see what I can find out." He said. "To be honest, I'd kinda like to know what's going on too."

"I'd appreciate that." Amy replied with a small smile. She would welcome any news she could get, even if it wasn't the greatest news. Amy just wanted to know when she could see Meg and know for herself the real story behind this whole drama.

It was still so difficult for her to believe that Meg would kill innocent people after all that the girls had gone through after the tragic death of their mother. Amy still couldn't comprehend that this was indeed the truth.

Greg left the room, the squeaking of his shoes following him down the hall.

Amy sighed for what seemed like the millionth time that day and leaned back against the uncomfortable plastic chair that she sat in. She wished that she could see Meg and ask her what she was thinking about when she decided to kill those people. Surely Meg couldn't have done this willingly. There was more to all of this than was being said. Amy just knew it.

> > > > > 

She cringed inwardly as she heard the familiar steps coming towards the cell. Meg turned her head towards the hall only to see Adam's evil and arrogant face staring down at her. His eyes were cold and hateful, his lips turned up into a sardonic grin. Meg felt her stomach twist at the sight of him; bile rising up in her throat.

"I hear you want to apologize." He sneered, his voice filled with hateful sarcasm. "I must say, I was rather surprised when I heard that." He cocked an eyebrow and studied Meg.

"What do you have up your sleeve, Sawyer?" Adam questioned.

"Nothing." Meg spat. "I just want this whole thing to end."

"Well I'm sorry," Adam replied, sounding anything but sorry. "But it's a little late for that." The cold glint in his eyes intensified. "You betrayed me, Meg." He scowled, leaning in so that his face was pressed against the bars. "And you knew the deal. So, because of your _stupidity_, Amy is going to die."

"She had nothing to do with this." Meg cried, jumping off the cot. "You just leave her alone. Leave her out of this."

"Meg, Meg, Meg." Adam sighed sardonically and shook his head. His eyes roved over her; cold and heartless. "You've already brought her into this. By telling those stupid CSIs about me you brought Amy into this. You put her life into my hands."

Hot tears flooded Meg's eyes and fell down her cheeks in two waterfalls of guilt and sadness. He was right. Meg had deceived him, and now, Adam had the right to kill Amy as was their so called "deal."

Yes, deal. Or that was what Adam called it. When he had first come to her with his whole plan he had told her that he would do as he said or Amy would die. What choice had Meg had in the matter? Either she did as he said or she lost someone who she loved more than life itself.

"Why are you doing this?" Meg cried, the tears falling from her face to land on the back of her fist which was clenched tightly around the bars of her prison cell. "Why did you have to choose me?"

"Because your father was a weak man, Meg, and I needed someone who would follow through with my instructions." At his words, Meg's eyes flew up to meet his. What did her father have to do with this?

"My father?"

"Oh that's right." An evil glint filled Adam's eyes. "Your precious father never told you that he was the first of my assistances."

Meg searched Adam's eyes, wanting nothing more than to know that he was lying. But, somehow, she knew that it was the truth.

"You see, Meg." He continued, now seeing that he had an attentive audience. "Your father used to be my partner before he quit the FBI. He was a good agent, but a poor man. He came to me for help and I, being the fine man that I am, decided to help him. I told him that I'd pay him to do a few side jobs for me; no questions asked. And he said yes."

Meg couldn't believe what she was hearing. She had known when she was a girl that her parents were having money problems. Her father had made a few bad investments and they were struggling to make ends meet. But Meg had never been worried; she knew that her daddy- her hero- would fix things somehow. And he had. But now Meg was learning just _how_ he had fixed everything. The thought of him willingly falling into the kind of life which Meg had stumbled into was sickening.

"Poor Meg," Adam snickered, "to finally learn that your hero is nothing more than a low-life, hired gun. You two are more alike than you ever thought. Because, much like you, he betrayed me as well. Oh yes, he decided that he wanted out of the business and he tried to turn me in. But I got him in the end, oh yes I did. It's just a shame though. Your mother was such a beautiful woman. It's a shame that she had to die because of him."

Her mother. Meg's anger surged from deep within her and her knuckles turned white from the death grip she held on the bars. Adam had killed her mother.

"You bastard." She seethed, her anger making it nearly impossible to speak. "You son of a bitch, no good, murdering _bastard_." She pulled at the bars as if to free herself and pictured her hands tightening around Adam's neck.

Her anger was fueled by the laughter that bubbled up from Adam's lips. As she stood there, trying to curb her anger- yet utterly failing- Adam walked away, his shoulders shaking with mirth and his spine tingling laugh echoing off the cinderblock walls.

As the door slammed shut behind him, Meg felt her knees go weak and she sank slowly to the cold concrete floor. The tears of sadness had turned into ones of hate and loathing. She wanted nothing more than to see that bastard arrested and to see him pay for his crimes- not only those against the people he'd had murdered, but the crimes he had committed against Meg's family.

_Let him laugh_. Meg thought as she stared at the blank gray walls of her cell. _Because in the end, I'll have the last laugh_.

And, with tears still streaming down her face, Meg pulled off the microphone that lay just inside the collar of her shirt.

> > > > > 

Well, what did y'all think? Please review and share your thoughts with me. I love to hear from my readers, so review!

PS. Next chapter will be out soon, it's all ready written I just need to edit it.


	17. The Final Verdict

Well folks, it is hard to believe it, but the end is finally here. I have had so much fun writing this story and creating Meg's character that it's hard to let it all go. But let it go I must. Finally I have finished this story and I am quite proud with what I've written. I hope that you all have enjoyedreading this story as much as I've enjoyed writing it. I want to thank all of you who reviewed and I want you to know that I really appreciate all the encouragment you gave me, all the compliments, and all the criticism. Every single word that you all wrote to me was a way to help make this story better.

Now, without further ado, let us proceed to the final chapter.

Chapter Seventeen

The judge frowned as he listened to the tape that Grissom played for him. With a shake of his head, he reached for his pen and signed the arrest warrant.

"It's a sad day when one of America's protectors would stoop so low." The elderly judge sighed as he handed the warrant over to Grissom. "Do me a favor, Gil; make sure you get enough dirt to put this guy away for good."

Grissom couldn't help the small smile that tugged at the corners of his mouth. But, just as quickly as the smile appeared, Grissom pushed it down again. Now was not the time for smiling; that could come after Adam Wilkins was in jail for good.

"Thank you Judge Feldman." Grissom said, taking the warrant. "I'll see what I can do."

The judge smiled and bid farewell to Grissom.

> > > > > 

"So how long until I'm moved to the prison?" Meg asked, glancing at Catherine through the bars.

It had been two days since Meg had gotten Adam's confession and he had been arrested. Preparations for the trials of both Meg and Adam were going full sped now and Meg could no longer be kept at the small holding area. It was time to move to the real prison. She dreaded the move, knowing that the few freedoms she had been allowed would no longer be given to her. She wouldn't be able to see Amy everyday; instead the visit with her sister would have to take place only once a week.

But at least Amy was safe now. Adam was locked up and could no longer threaten Meg's sister. Sometimes good could come out of bad situations.

"One hour." Catherine replied.

Meg sighed and placed her forehead against the cool bars. One hour. Sixty minutes. It didn't leave a whole lot of time to tie up the loose ends that still hung about. She had so much to do before she could be taken away; so many things she needed to make right.

"Can I see Amy?" She asked.

Catherine nodded, a sad smile on her lips. She felt bad for Meg; she was so young, and yet her life was about to end. Maybe not literally, but figuratively she would be dead. A life of prison cells and dangerous inmates lay before her. If only there was something more that Catherine could do for her. Already the CSI had made good on her promise and made sure that Meg would not receive the death sentence. But maybe that would have been better. Maybe Meg would be better of dying instead of facing all those years in prison. But Catherine had made a promise, and she always made good on her promises. After all, there was always the chance that Meg would make parole. Catherine could only hope that that was the case. A girl like Meg would be eaten alive in prison. She was much too sweet and- despite the whole assassin thing- too innocent to survive in prison.

"I'll go get her." Catherine said, turning before Meg could see the tears that were forming just behind her eyes.

> > > > > 

Greg dreaded the upcoming trial. He knew that he would be called upon to testify against Meg, and he wanted no part in sending her to prison. Yes, it was true she had tried to kill him, but he still loved her. His heart was breaking even now as he thought of her being sent to prison and facing the horrors that were sure to reside there. Prison was no place for someone as beautiful and pure as Meg. If the other inmates didn't use her than the guards surely would. Her innocence was much to alluring for people of less honorable intentions to ignore. They would want to use her and take everything they could from her until she was nothing but a shell of the woman she was now.

But still Greg hoped. He prayed fervently that some miracle would happen to deliver her from the sure fate that would befall her. Hope and prayer; that was all that he could offer Meg now. That, and his undying love. For surely he would love her until the end of his days. Their affair had been a short one, but that didn't make it any less intense or full of honest love than a relationship that had lasted for years.

His thoughts of Meg were interrupted as Amy reentered the room.

For the past two days she had been under his careful watch, both clinging to the other for support for the hell that they would surely face in the coming days.

The look of sadness in Amy's eyes broke his heart. She was such a wonderful girl, so much like Meg and yet so different at the same time. Tears brimmed in her eyes as she sat down beside Greg.

It killed Amy to see her sister behind bars, she hated seeing the woman who had once been so free and loving trapped in a cage. But it was the only choice she had if she wanted to see Meg.

"Dad and the girls are getting in tonight." Amy sighed as she leaned back into the seat. "It sucks that they weren't able to get an earlier flight. I know Meg wished that they were all here now, you know, before she goes to jail." Her voice broke as the tears fell down her cheeks.

Greg placed his arm around Amy's shoulders, pulling her in to a tight hug. They both sought comfort from each other, both wanting to forget that this event had ever happened. Both wishing that things could go back to the way they used to be.

> > > > > 

The hour had passed and Meg could feel her freedom slipping away with each tick of the clock and each step of the uniformed guards that had come to take her away.

She had spoken with Amy, had told her everything that she could think of to tell her, imparted every piece of wisdom that she could. But there had been no time to fix the wrong that weighed upon her heart. Greg. She had no seen him since the night that she had almost killed him. The last image she had of him was one of a confused and shocked Greg. Not the image that she wished to keep forever in her memory. If only she could remember the good times, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled. Or the way his lips twitched before pulling up into a full fledged smile. Instead, her mind chose to remember that last moment, that moment that had forever changed both their lives.

The door to her cell slid open with a sickening _clang_ and the guards stood just outside of the cell, arms crossed and emotionless expressions on their faces.

"C'mon," the older of the two said. "let's go."

Holding her head high, Meg walked out of the cell and held her arms out for the men to cuff her. As the metal snapped closed around her wrists she felt a part of herself die. This was it, the final moments before her life came to an end.

_Not an end_, she thought, blinking back tears, _merely a new beginning._

They led her out of the holding area and into the lobby of the building. Meg could feel the eyes on her, the condemning stares and the looks of sympathy. She kept her chin up and her eyes forward, not letting the looks get to her.

The trio rounded a corner and there he stood. Meg's breath caught in her throat as she looked at Greg, the look of hurt and…could it be…_love_ in his eyes so overwhelming that Meg was tempted to look away. But her eyes held to his, even as she felt the tears come fresh to her eyes.

"A minute, please?" Greg asked the guards. The two uniformed men exchanged a look before the elder nodded. They stepped away from Meg, leaving her and Greg in the middle of the hallway as they took up residence against the wall.

For a moment, neither Greg nor Meg knew what to say. They stood in silence, simply staring at each other, both wanting to look away, and both never wanting to see anything else but the person standing before them. The seconds seemed to drag on forever for Meg as she stared at Greg. She wanted to hold him in her arms, to trace the lines of his face with her fingers, but, most of all, she wanted to kiss his lips and never come up for air. If only a kiss really could last a lifetime. If only there was nothing else she needed than the feel of his strong lips against hers.

"I suppose I should be asking you why you did it." Greg said, breaking the silence. "But I know why you did it. I guess the only thing that I don't understand is how he even trapped you in the first place?"

"I wish I knew the answer to that myself." Meg replied. "The truth is, though, it was so long ago that I've forgotten."

Silence once more covered the pair. But they didn't need words to communicate their thoughts, their feelings. There was something so deep between them that it was as if they could actually hear each other's thoughts.

"Do you think you could ever forgive me?" Meg asked, wanting to hear his voice again so that she could commit it to her memory.

"I already have." Greg whispered, so overcome by emotion that it was difficult for him to speak. A slow smile tugged at Meg's lips.

The guards returned then, taking their place on either side of Meg. The couple's time was up, and it was time for Meg to continue on her journey. The guards began to lead her down the hall, but only progressed a few steps before Meg turned around.

"I want you to know, I really did love you." She said before being led away.

> > > > > 

The day of Meg's sentencing was the last time that Greg ever saw her. She had stood when the jury delivered its verdict, her back straight and shoulders rigid as the foreman delivered the guilty sentence. Greg would remember forever the way that she had looked as she was led away from the courtroom. Grace and dignity had been in each step she took. Her chin was held high. Even as she was being taken away she was a queen- regal to the end.

> > > > > 

_I used to be as much of a victim as those I killed. Wilkins had kept me trapped within the twisted game he'd devised. It was a game that not only killed, but that broke the spirits of the players. He thought he had broken me, and, I have to admit, I'd thought so too. But we both turned out to be wrong. _

_ Wilkins never broke me, because, in the end, I found the strength to break away from his hold. _

_ I'm no longer trapped within the game. _

_ No. Now, I am free. _


End file.
